My Sword is Hatred
by Midnight Mastery
Summary: This is not a story about heroes. Nor is it about great villians. This is the story of the rank and file troopers just trying to survive another day. The moral high ground, the low ground, it doesn't matter as long as you survive.
1. My Sword is Hatred

_**My Sword is Hatred**_

"_By the Empero-"_

Britain was tired. He struggled to push himself up off the worn metal floor, feeling a years' worth of fatigue all at once. Ears ringing and vision blurred, Britain attempted to come to his senses blood was flowing into his eyes from his head. What felt like minutes later he found himself rolling across the hallway and into a wall with a new found pain in his ribs.

When the trooper opened his eyes again he was staring at the ceiling. The Imperial seal staring down at him. It was slowly replaced by a sneering, grim and mutilated face slowly entered his vision. His senses, kick-started quite literally, started overwhelming him. The smell of burnt flesh, gunpowder and smoke filled his head. He looked at himself, laying quite pathetically on the floor. Britain was covered in blood, his former squad mates and heretic alike. Panic filled his thoughts. _'Heretics, Emperor forsaken traitors.'_ They began speaking in High Gothic. Some heretical nonsense for sure. Britain couldn't understand but chose to block it out regardless.

The grim figure lurking above him in a tattered naval uniform pulled something from his waist, a knife. Britain acted on training alone, pushing through the pain and pulling his own knife that he kept in his boot. This effort was predicted as Britain's hand was crushed below a rather large boot. Dropping the knife, his body screamed to submit to his inevitable death. His brain, filled pride and zeal decided a new course of action. His free hand formed into a fist and sped through the air and into the genitals of the once confident heretic above him. This effort earned Britain a swift stomp to the head by an unseen force. With all effort in his body now gone, Britain prepared to die, whispering his last prayers to the God Emperor of Mankind for a safe and speedy deliverance. One more-then-pale, heretic got on top of him while the others bent over to hold him down. A ceremonial knife was raised and chants were sung. The warp-corrupted arms men would cease chanting as red and orange beams would fill Britain's waning vision.

"_**Get up White Shield" **_

Looking left, Britain sees his salvation in the form of 3 Cadian Kasrkins adorned in battle worn carapace armor standing neigh meters away from him with still smoking lasguns.

"_**Get up boy, are you not Cadian?"**_

Seeing as his service to the Emperor is still not complete, Britain rolls over and pushes himself to his feet. Stuttering he says, "A-_Aye sir, t-thank you sir. The Emperor protects"_

"_**The Emperor protects those who protect themselves, Trooper"**_

As Britain regained his composure and got his situational awareness, he surveyed the gruesome scene. His squad that was sent to defend this crucial hallway junction was all but slaughtered. With no time to prepare defenses and minimal cover, the Heretic's numbers swarmed and massacred them. His former commissar lay mutilated with his head and arms cut off and Imperial seals tarnished. The warp-damned traitors seemed to take their time with each one of his former friends and comrades. Emperor only knows what they were planning for him. The Trooper remembered his duties and picked up his lasgun, took stock of his gear and looked to the closest Kasrkin.

"_Sir, what do I do now?"_

The Kasrkin with relatively new looking armor looked at him and spoke: "_Since you have FAILED your mission, you will return to our Battalion CP and be assigned a new unit"_

"_**At Easy Corporal, he is just a boy" **_said what looked like the team's Sergeant. He took a pause, now taking a good glance at the timid White Shield trooper. "_But you will follow us. Take up rear security and quickly compose yourself." _

Preferring to keep his words short in the presence of the elite soldiers, Britain responded _"A-Aye aye sir."_ The Kasrkins moved fast, a combat glide with weapons at the ready, paying no mind to the corpses that used to be his brothers. Britain knew he shouldn't get consumed by their sacrifice as well. But he knew his squad, grew up with them. Atticus, Flanner, Rogers, Lindsey. All brothers and sisters he grew up and trained with. Gone, in what seemed like an instant. The Trooper became lost in his thoughts, trying to catch up to his battle worn body over what had happened in the past few days, let alone the past few months. The Emperor has not favored him as of late. Chaos heretics have been swarming all of the ship. Taking advantage of the depleted void shields and weak willed naval armsmen who enlisted to try and get _OUT_ of combat. Set back after setback, failed defense and withdraw after another. From what rumors spilled through the cracks he learned that ship's crew was losing an unwinnable battle against the forces of the Arch enemy. And the he managed to evacuate onto was still stuck in the warp! He personally just wanted to survive this hellhol-

A generous amount of time must have passed as Britain was consumed with thought, he bumped into the rear Kasrkin, who was labeled in white paint on the back of his armor as 'BEARTON'. He recalled this man as the mean Corporal who called him a failure earlier. _**"PAY THE FUCK ATTENTION TROOPER" **_Britain replied meekly _"A-Aye sir"_ Mentally berating himself for not focusing on his tasks, he continued onward down the labyrinth of passageways. No further contact was made with the heretics but it was ghostly quiet. Despite the distant, echoing sounds of small skirmishes, not a single friendly crewman or servitor was seen.

"_**We approach our lines, remain vigilant men"**_ The Sergeant bellowed.A chorus of affirmatives answered from the battle weary troopers of the 59th Kasrkins. The Squad minus, held until the Sergeant moved forward. They ascended a long staircase in what seemed to be mint condition. At the top was a thick barricade manned by a tired looking heavy weapons team of guardsmen. As Britain stared, the guardsmen on post showed no emotion. Ever watchful for the Arch enemy that is always close_. _The great bright white lights were replaced with the emergency red flood lights from here on out. It seems power is trying to be saved from where it can. The squad wordlessly moved through the cramped and winding hallways packed with injured guardsmen, crates of supplies and additional barricades stood by those who could, whether guardsmen, armsmen or crewman. It didn't matter.

Passing a small checkpoint, made up of a especially thick metal box, Britan saw a Guardsmen standing bent over outside an open door throwing up onto the floor panels. In the spirit of curiosity, he peered into the room, but he was not ready for what he saw. Attempting to keep his previous rations down he gazed. Fascinated by the terrible slaughter he found. The room was covered in gore, the steel and matte colors of the ship were replaced with blood red and bits of pieces of human. A body lay cut open with bare ribs exposed and all matter of heretical defacement inside. There was a monument to the Emperor with a sign of chaos drawn in blood over it the face. Skitarii were inside inspecting the room and began burning one of the more intact corpses with an arm flamethrower

Britain had left these same lines not less than 6 hours ago. With a full squad and chants and prayers shaking the hallway. Oh how things have changed so quickly. After what seemed a full standard hour they crossed the threshold into what used to be Messhall 6 Alpha. This did not look like the former. The red lights gave off the ever grim tone of the room. Medicaes ran about, tending to those injured on improvised surgery beds made out of tables. Miniature staging areas were set up with prayer circles of men about to be sent out. Sandbags and random metal salvage and tables were set up for cover. The Kasrkins moved with purpose to the center of the messhall. Britain followed out of necessity and lack of options. They approached a makeshift room made out of thick, metal scrap, and from the equipment and rank symbols inside, the Trooper decided this was the command room for the battalion staff officers. Only the Sergeant (Which Britain could now see labeled as 'SHAW') entered while the other two Kasrkins began to sit on containers or leaning up against a wall.

The exhaustion set in once again, now that they had stopped. The Trooper went up to a somewhat tall container and sat against it, taking off his helmet. Letting his skull get some oxygen and his brown hair to flow freely. He needed to rest. His mind raced, prior memories of the destruction of his planet, combat and the slaughter of his squad poured in. Doubt crept his way into the very fabric of his mind. Britain Tiberius decided that this was unacceptable, he pulled out his personal copy of 'The Imperial Infantrymen's Handbook' and started reading. He needed confirmation in his soul that he is doing the Emperor's will.

After a few minutes of reading prayers, he began to feel better. All of a sudden a clumsy medicae tripped over his foot, spilling the contents of a med kit all over the floor. A few nearby troopers indulged in the dark humor and laughed. The young white shield, initially annoyed by the interruption, looked up to see a beautiful if not somewhat older girl with a wild look on her face on her knees attempting to recover the contents of her package. He stowed his book and began to help the girl. He was still a 16 year old boy after all.

"_It's not your fault I'm sorr-"_ The trooper tried to say. The medicae cut him off and cried out _"No no no! The Tech Priests will maim me!"_ That left the Trooper in an awkward position as he hurriedly help collect the bandages and handed it to the Medicae. "What is your name field chiurgeon?" Britain was desperate for a name, this could be his last time talking to a female human as far as he knew. Might as well take a bold step. _"Aquila" _she replied. "I-_I'm sorry but I must be leavin-"_

"_**Girl"**_

A tall, lanky looking major dressed in a very minimalist set of flak armor and officer uniform stepped outside the command room. He was followed by the Kasrkin Sergeant. "_Regardless of your prior orders, you will accompany this team and provide aid on their mission." _The Medicae looked almost frightened. _"But what of Engiseer?" _The Major responded without hesitation "_He has plenty of servitors under his command. These gentlemen are in need a true thinking servant of the Emperor"_ Aquila paused, as if thinking about the order. "_Very well sir, your will is the Emperor's" _And with the affirmation of the request the Major moved to disappear back inside the command tent but before he could, White Shield private Britain spoke up. "_Sir! I am from the unit tasked with hold Junction 24 Alpha, we failed and were overwhelmed by traitors!" _The major turned back around and took a good look at the still sitting trooper.

"_First off boy, stand when you address a senior officer." _Britain scrambled to his feet and went to parade rest automatically. "_Secondly, that junction is no longer a necessity due to troop movements. Your squad served with honor. Now I have business to attend to." _

Britain was devastated, he quietly fell into a slump against the crate again thinking about how the sacrifice of his squad was seemingly meaningless. The Sergeant finally introduced himself, primarily towards the medicae _"Good Afternoon, I am Kasrkin Sergeant Shaw. We will be moving to secure a priority hanger that is currently occupied by some filthy greenskin boarders. Go and collect your things, we move out within the hour." _He continued after a pause for thought. "_Do not fret white shield, you will be joining us on our crusade against the invaders" _A sense of dread set in, as the Trooper was once again thrown into the fire.

As the team of Kasrkins made their way to an unseen area, Britain was still consumed with thought. He picked his head up and saw the medicae, still standing there. Her golden hair flowed down to her shoulders with flak helmet attached to her hip while her las gun was slung on her back and med kit in hands. _"For what it's worth, I am sorry about your squad. I'm sure they died with honor"_ This consolation did little to put Britain in a better mood, but it did enough. He was Cadian after all, always pressing forward. Born to fight and die for the Emperor and for all of mankind. "_Thank you, Ma'am"_

"_Don't call me Ma'am, I'm only a Corporal. But I really must be going, I will see you on the battlefield Tiberius" _Unsettled momentarily as he forgot his armor was labeled with his name as well, he quickly said his goodbye and picked up his helmet.

Britain stood and made his way to the closest empty staging area, his instincts and training leading forward. There he found two large looking Guardsmen with pristine looking 8s painted in white on both their shoulders. Eager for some knowledge on what this mission was he approached the chatting Guardsmen. "Hey Gents, do you know anything about our mission?"

The Guardsmen snapped their unarmored heads and turned the face the new arrival. _"Why are the fuck are you asking us?"_ The left trooper looked at his friend and replied with a thick Cadian accent. _"Oi look, poor lad is just a white shield. Dumbstruck by us Shock Troopers"_ They began sneering _"No, I think he knows exactly what he's doing. Probably a chaos traitor trying to get information"_ With that the young warrior's eyes went wide at such a thing being accused of him so casually. _"Might as well get the commissar, Reggie"_ Both Troopers started laughing at their own dark humor.

"_**A grievous offense to be leveled without evidence is enough to get a man lashed." **_Britain shot his head behind him and found Sergeant Shaw and the Corporal standing almost directly behind him.

"_W-we meant nothing by it sir, just all for fun" _The bigger man replied, taking a step back and raising his hands in defense.

"_**Go about your duties and prepare for combat"**_

"_Aye Aye sir!" _They both replied before walking to the other side of the staging area. The Sergeant turned towards him, looking down at the boy. "White Shield, those are not the men to model yourself off of. But, they are your new squad. So figure it out and prepare yourself."

And with an affirmative, Britain went about his personal preparation, grabbing fresh power packs from a crate and even making a hasty stich in his torn trousers. More rank and file guardsmen entered the area. It was a ragtag group, mostly more of the '8' Troopers with other units thrown in as well. He kept to himself however, being the odd man out with the very obvious looking white stripe down his helmet. He noticed however when the Medicae corporal entered. She spotted him and started to walk in his direction when a ragged, yet stoic man bearing the markings and uniform of a commissar approached the center of the now large group of men. Without any words, everyone stopped what they were doing and formed a semi-circle around the man and began kneeling.

The exhausted Trooper found himself in the back of the formation of Cadian Shock Troops, near 100 strong now. What he figured as his new commissar began a litany. _"My armor is contempt, my shield is disgust, and my sword is hatred. In the Emperor's name, let none survive the carnage of the Imperial Guard. For there is only the Emperor, and he is our Shield and our Protector. The Emperor protects the faithful and the courageous!" _The assembled company of the Emperor's faithful sounded back in chorus, "_We serve the Emperor's will" to which the Commissar replied "AND WHAT IS HIS WILL?"_ Zeal taking over, Trooper Britain made sure his voice was the loudest of the company_, **"THAT WE FIGHT AND DIE!" **_A nod of respect, for those about to take part in the Battalion's crusade, the commissar responded in the affirmative. _"Carry out your duty, for you are the Hammer of the Mankind."_

The company rose, Britain noticed the Kasrkin team rise from the prayer as well. All still helmed except for who he figured was the mean Corporal. He thought to himself _'He looks as mean as he acts' _with a shaved head and a great scar on the left side of his face just infront of his ear. It went from hairline all the way to his chin as well. He also looked young, very young for a Kasrkin! He could only be a few years older than himself! As he felt the staring, the Corporal made eye contact with him before adorning his helm. Britain snapped back into warrior mode as he heard _**"STEPPING OUT"**_ Being bellowed from the front.

The young Trooper found his new team, taking up position of the rear once again. He began saying his weapon's prayers and looking around, waiting to move. Britain then noticed that his team leader, the one with the heavy accent was staring at him. _"Act like a coward today and you'll never be a shock trooper" _He sighed, taking a pause then addressing Britain once again _"Look lad, just keep your head down and fire your lasgun" _And with that his section moved started moving, already gaining dispersion.

Each soldier filed out of the mess hall. 'More meat for the grinder' as some heretical thoughts would say. Trooper Britain knew these thoughts and sought out to eliminate them. They would only serve to cause his mind more pain then already applied to him due to the Chaos insurrection. What he could focus on though, was Aquila. She was only one team in front of him. As disciplined as he was, it was second-rate compared to the thoughts of a growing boy. _**'NO' '**__Focus Britain, you are Cadian for Emperor's sake!'_ The suppressed thoughts became such.

As the company of fighting men marched, Britain could hear las-fire from the front elements. At times like that he was happy to be in the middle. The long line of men made it impossible to see the front. Even without the ever present twists and turns meant to give defenders an edge. He just had to watch the vents, the shadows, and the floor panels. This was greenskin territory. Tiberius had never seen an Ork before, but of course he had the training. All matter of Gretchens, or squig-face eaters could be hiding in the shadows of the red lights. When his team came around the next bend, Britain found the combat he heard. Las burns adorned the wall and corpses of dead Orks lay hastily pushed against the wall with their makeshift guns and knives. They were massive. Well compared to Britain Tiberius's 5'8" small framed body that is. The mood turned ever darker as he saw a deceased Guardsmen with a massive hole in his chest flak armor and his eyes closed. The unfortunate man was leaned up against a wall with his helmet removed, equipment scavenged, and religious chain in his hands. Britain said a small prayer for the brave fallen man.

After 2 hours of tireless patrolling. The command came to 'double-time' he did as such. Catching up to his platoon command staff, which consisted of a lieutenant and the company commissar. With the sounds of battle already taking place, the Commissar quickly addressed the group _"Men, the hanger has been infected with the spores of the unworthy greenskins. They have made their mark of the place and they chose and decided their faithless destiny. To DIE by our hands" _The Lieutenant just nodded in agreement as the commissar began the battle plan. "Remember, 1st platoon will storm in and provide a base of fire while 2nd platoon will push against the near wall with us to cut off the retreat of the cowards." The commissar began to get angrier and angrier with each spoken word._ "We will decimate the Xenos lines and kill every last one. They will know the Emperor's fury by Lasfire." _And as the words left his mouth, an explosion was heard. Followed by the rushed footsteps of the Cadain Shock Troops in front of him. It was time.

"_**FUCK YOU XENOS!" **_Screams and all matter of las and auto gun fire filled the small hanger. 5 minutes into the attack and the company has gone to shit. Much of the command staff along with 1st platoon was killed as the greenskins poured massive amounts of stubber fire in their general direction. A large Ork Warpboy was leading the defense of the hanger. Turning it into a warp-damned hellhole. Cover was scarce and the areas in-between were littered with corpses and discarded equipment. As the white shield trooper entered the hanger he made a break for the first cover he could find. A team of guardsmen to his left disintrigrated under a lightning strike. Nothing good was happening. Imperial troopers were falling to his left and right as he found cover behind a series of maintenance crates. The two guardsmen in his team were busy taking shots into the horde of green flesh seeking destroy all xenos to notice him. He was afraid, he spent most of his life preparing for this combat but he was freezing. This cannot be allowed to happen. He picked his weapon up and took aim on the side of his crate. He saw many Ork Boyz and Gretchins not even in cover! Knowing his weapon was weak, he started firing at the little beasts. They were fast but there are many of the fuckers. He hit one and watched as his head popped. A frag grenade flew over his head moving outbound. The explosion rocked him as little bits and pieces of flesh rained down on him. A Guardsmen heavy stubber opened up and began shredding orkz of all kinds. Maybe they had a chance after all! Britain did not let up his fire for a second until his power pack went dry.

Hitting as many gretchins as he could, he took a pause in cover to reload. As this happened he felt the temperature drop drastically, he looked back to his team and watched as they were being consumed by a deep purple warp vortex. Their skin was being ripped from their bones and it looked gruesome. He heard a maniacial laughter being bellowed by what he imagined was the Ork Warpboy as his cover vanished into the fires of the vortex. He began crawling, weapon in hand as fast he could to the next nearest piece of cover. As he threw himself behind a ruined Valkyrie. Many guardsmen lie dead or dying behind the Valkyrie while the incoming fire started increasing towards the survivors. Medics were pumping stims into those injured. Britain looked out and his heart sank. Aquila was lying in a heap out in the open, shoulder armor crushed as if manhandled and tossed. Her helmet was ripped off and the golden hair that was the only brightness he could think of, was tainted with her blood. His rage only grew looking at the devastation before him. He got into the prone and with his freshly loaded lasgun, began firing once more.

Ork after Ork came at the now defensive guardsmen. This battle was being lost quickly. As a large Ork jumped over the some cover and got within meters of the Guard positions, the company's last flamethrower burnt the beast to a crisp. Where were all the heavy weapons!? Britain was sure each company was supposed to have even at least one plasma gun and even a few gernade launchers! The only thing he could hear was the heavy caliber stubber pumping rounds downrange and protecting the left side of the positon.

A vox enhanced voice screamed out _**"2**__**nd**__** PLATOON PROVIDE A BASE OF FIRE" "3**__**RD**__** PLATOON PUSH RIGHT! GO!" **_Britain took a half second to register what he had heard. _'Wait, I'm 3__rd__ platoon! Oh fuck!' _He scrambled to his feet as rounds whizzed by his head. He saw the dark green carapace armor of the Kasrkins sprint past him. He took off in an attempt to follow ducking in a meager attempt to avoid the bullets.

Reaching the next piece of cover he took a short breath and observed there wasn't enough men here. They were all spread out over the hanger to avoid being taken out by grenades. Looking back to the Valkyrie he notice an increasing amount of guard bodies and remnant warp energy where the heavy stubber was supposed to be. _'Damn that pysker!'_ He then took aim at the bastard responsible for so much death. The warpboy was close. Only 15 meters away as he walked closer, ever cackling at the carnage around him. Most of the other Orkz were still concentrated on the Valkyire, shooting their guns more for noise then anything. The young white shield loosed a grenade while a hell gun to his right opened up at the same time. The explosion knocked the giant ork warp boy off balance, pushing him into backwards and into cover. A hand grabbed the young warrior's shoulder, scaring him for a moment. The Kasrkin Corporal Bearton was staring directly at him. He had a nasty bullet graze take a chunk of the top of his helmet but he still looked calm.

"_**Fix bayonets" **_Was all that he said. All the troopers around him were already in the process of it. He pulled his bayonet out of the sheathe saying a quick prayer as he affixed it. _'Oh Lord Emperor, hear me now and grant me wraith against the Xeno'_

The stoic commissar from earlier pulled his chain sword out, stood and bellowed _**"MOVE QUICKLY AND KILL THIS PYSKER DAMNED ORK!" **_After receiving a quick look of understanding from his now squad sized element. _**"FOR THE GLORY OF THE EMPEROR! COVERING FIRE!" **_Whoever was left at the Valkyrie unleashed a deadly volley of lasfire. Hitting and killing many Ork due to volume alone. Britain was one of the last men to leave cover, quickly sprinting to rejoin his now squad sized element which was about 5 meters closer the enemy then him. 3 Guardsmen fell after being hit by the massive rounds of the shootaz. By this time the Orks noticed this charge and practically foamed at the mouth running to fight in melee. 6 more valiant guardsmen fell engaging in melee due as the closest orks moved as fast as they could. An explosion from an ork grenade killed a mad boy ork that got in front Britain. For maybe the Emperor was watching over him. Many stumbled just for a second just from the size of the grenade's shockwave. The warp boy was standing up now and seeing the massed charging guardsmen, grew a vicious smile.

'_5 meters left' _In line with the charge now Britain was somehow still standing next to Cadia's finest in what might be the last moments of his life. At least he would die fighting with the honor of a Cadian, just as his parents did only months ago.

Everything slowed down. The commissar was the first to engage taking an overhead swing trying to kill this foul beast. Then the beast was gone, all but a blurred ghost as he moved and swung a fist too fast to even register into the head of the commissar. Immediately knocked unconscious or dead, he fell backwards and limp. The Ork boss reappeared behind Britain but he continued charging forwards into a smaller foe. More out of madness then anything. Corporal Bearton was the second nearest. He responded quickly, taking a step back to plant himself before firing a series of shots from his hot shot lasgun. The warp-enhanced speed only granting the Ork a grazing wound before the 3rd Kasrkin member stabbed the ork in the chest, but couldn't penetrate the incredibly thick skin. He cried out in pain as he was batted away into a small horde of fast approaching squigs, ripping him apart. After killing his previous foe with a bayonet to the neck, Britain returned once again charging and darkly used the Kasrkins first effort for his own go at the beast. The momentum from the charge pierced the leathery skin armor of the large ork, penetrating deep into his arm.

Without even flinching from the stab, the Ork grabbed and picked up the young soldier as he noticed that the small human that stabbed him was between him and lasgun wielding veteran. The devious creature used this as threw the panicking white shield at the Kasrkin.

"_**YOUS HUMMIES FIGHT GOOD BUT DIE GOODER" **_The boss creature paused, ripping the still lodged lasrifle out of his arm as a giant madboy picked up the broke pair. Being manhandled, the defeated White Shield and Kasrkin were carried across the hanger to a growing pile of bodies. Most were dead, others still helplessly clinging to life. _'Goodz, theyve listen somtime' __**"I WAZ JUST GONNA LET ME BOYZ EAT YA, BUT I WANTZ TO TRY SOMFHING NEW" **_The Madboy threw the pair into the pile and backed Beartomn leaned up, on some bodies, grabbed his hell pistol that was in his thigh holster and took aim. The Warp Boy was faster however and smashed his hands together in a clap. The shockwave shook what felt like the entire ship and caused the Kasrkin to drop his pistol. As all the Orks started screaming _**"WAAAAAGGHHHHH" **_In warpboy pointed at the remaining humans, acutely aware that all the gun fire in the hanger had ceased.

Britain was shitting his pants. _'Orks don't take prisoners, wait they're gonna eat us! THEY'RE GONNA EAT US!' _The shockwave came and knocked the white shield's vision into a blurry mess. An obnoxiously loud WAGH had filled his ears as he tried to cover them with his hands. He looked up and just made out the rather large warpboy pick up his hands and twist them in a knarred fist as he too, joined in the WAGH. A black void opened up below and swallowed him as he fell through with all the corpses around him. Panicking further he was falling incredibly fast while his skin felt like being ripped off of him. The only thing keeping him awake was the unimaginable pain being dealt as his body contorted and broke down. Then the pain stopped. Britain could think but couldn't feel anything or move. His vision went black and senses dimmed. Britain thought this the end of his life. Murdered by a filthy xenos and not even worthy enough to die in battle. But in what seemed like an execution. A physic darkness crept in. The exhaustion of battle filling his mind. He could feel himself letting go.

Britain was tired.

_**Leave a review as there's more to come. Let me know if I messed up any lore or continued grammar issues. I wrote most of this drunk and revised it sober so here ya go. **_

_**…..**_

_**OK - So a week after launch and I keep getting questions and critic about this. That's cool, whatever. But let me state that the first couple of chapters are MEANT to be confusing. It's not world building with the most perceptive human being in creation. This is the mind set and points of view of those young men and women in combat. They are not going to explain their entire lives in one or two cutscenes. Nor will they notice everything. Shit happens and war, especially protracted battles, are confusing and chaotic to the mind. If you want to critic, just PM me or leave your review in a REAL USERNAME. Don't be a coward hiding behind guests because maybe I do want your help.**_


	2. My Armor is Contempt

**My Armor is Contempt**

'_I can't fucking die, I won't fucking die'_

'_I can't fucking die, I won't fucking die'_

A bright light filled a vision. So bright in fact that he tried to blink. He couldn't. He tried again, and again his body refused. Pure will alone made his body comply. Blinking once, then twice, then once more. The bright light seemed to retract, getting more and more distant with each passing second. Still unable to move the rest of the body. The young warrior kept blinking, doing the only thing he could. Minutes passed and the bright, white mass developed some black spots. Not just any black spots, but lines. Straight, horizontal lines. The light continued to pull back and become something tolerable in his sight. Minutes passed of selfishly laying there until suddenly, a great shadow blocked the light out. Not entirely though, slowly the dark spots brightened. Almost outlining a shape.

This shape, it was moving. Quite rapidly actually. Gaining some depth with the addition of more dynamic light he realized the shape was moving further away, then closer. _'Is that, yes it is.'_ It is a fist. A small fist at that. Wait, was he being attacked?! At this realization the adrenaline started flowing. Pain was ignored as simple motor functions returned. There was a small animal on top of him, trying to pound on his armored face as he lay there. Not just any animal but an Emperor-forsaken Gretchin. _**'I WON'T FUCKING DIE' **_and with only the panicked noises of the Gretchen, the Warrior rose from his slumber. His arm shot up and grabbed the Gretchin by the neck. Puny in comparison to the large Destroyer of Demons. He crushed the neck of the little beast while using his other hand to push himself up and off the ground.

This effort was rewarded by the outstanding pain and the added weight of half a dozen tiny creatures climbing and clawing at his carapace armor. He tossed the dead creature in his hand as a vicious rage burned though him. _'These pathetic fucking things think they can kill ME?! ME?!' _He reached for his thigh holstered hell pistol, but found no purchase. Remembering his bayonet was still on his rifle he instead pulled his family's dagger from his chest sheathe. He frantically started slashing and stabbing at every angle he could trying to kill the small greenskin savages.

Dead weight dropped off his back as his efforts continued. In an attempt to gain some type of situational awareness he picked his head up. His vision had still not fully returned but he could see a few meters in front of him. At first he identified his helmet HUD, they various statistics and modules incorporated into his armor. The bright overhead lights attempted to punish him as he pushed outwards, swinging and slashing. He, he could see corpses. The many bodies of the fallen crusaders. He aimed outwards, he found a clean metal floor and even tables! Not Imperial Guard tables. But it still looked like a mess hall however. Whatever warp trickery was put on him, he seemed to be in a different place. Perhaps not even on the warp-damned vessel he was destined to die on.

Thoughts too complex for combat as years of savage experience kicked in. As he switched his dagger to his left hand while using his right hand to search for a tool. A weapon, or anything he could use. Luck seemed to be on his side as a felt and saw the boxy shape of a bolt pistol on top of a mangled corpse. But the moment he clenched his hand around the pistol grip, a knife found his exposed flesh as it slashed the skin right above his right elbow. It tore through his battle fatigues like butter. Finding the perpetrator take the form as yet another scrawny Gretchin he took his left hand, balled it into a fist around the combat knife's grip and smashed the tiny beast in the face, knocking it backwards.

Bolt pistol successfully in hand he took aim at his most recent assailant. Heart filled with hate, and eyes burning with fury, he pulled the trigger. The sight was satisfying if nothing else as the round left the chamber, entered the deformed Gretchin skull and exploded. Covering everything in a small radius with gore and bits of tiny skull. The headless corpse walked for only a second before falling limp. But the Kasrkin Corporal did not watch, instead he focused his efforts at releasing his newly added weight. Throwing his hand backwards with the knife firmly grasped, he cut the arm off another child sized target wrapped around his neck. He bucked backwards, hitting something solid and crushing the Gretchen on his back. After it fell he quickly he a delivered axe-stomp with brutal efficiency. Bursting at the seams with blood lust, he lunged at a pathetically small green skin. And with one leg already a bleeding stump it was an easy kill as it tried crawling for its life. Dropping his bolt pistol, Bearton began the deed by ripping an arm off and beating the petrified looking creature to a mangled pulp with his own arm. Assessing the situation, he found 2 more creatures charging, almost hopping forward with confidence with knifes paraded in hand. They too, had hate in their eyes but it would not last as the ancient bolt pistol was quickly re-equipped. 2 headless corpses were kicked back a second later.

Surveying the area yet again, he found no more enemies of humanity. John Bearton was at the end of his energy tank however. Exhaustion from days of constant combat poured into his body. Only his bio-implants and the combat stims still flowing kept him standing. He leaned backwards, making contact with the small handwashing station that he recently smashed a Gretchin on. Finding a free space on the body-ridden floor, he slid down the side until he was firmly planted. Every joint in his body ached in pain as even performing the simplest task felt like a muscle tear. John brought the bolt pistol closer to his face while he sheathed his dagger. The oversized block of Holy metal felt heavy in his hands, it was a standard Mark III design. It favored the minimalist design of his regiment as well, with only a single white painted skull on the left side on the matte black backdrop of the weapon. Putting the emotional thoughts of the thought-to-be-dead commissar aside, John took out the weapons single magazine. Checking the ammunition supply he found only 4 rounds left, not counting the one loaded in the chamber. He placed the magazine back into the well.

The battery symbol on Kasrkin's helmet HUD started flashing red. He felt that his main suit battery was detached from his back. The suit only on an integrated hour long emergency backup. That meant only necessary systems still operated. No Auspex, no climate control, not even the vid recorder was on. Still sitting, he started looking around for his battery pack and rug sack in the sea of dead men. Directly to his front was a ceiling-less, but walled staircase leading up one story. It was remarkably free of damage or death. This room was tall, and wide as well. He saw some type of machine with an orange symbol with a fork and knife at the top of the staircase. _'Defiantly a chow hall.'_ Many tables were overturned and pushed out of place. Something was off however, things were too clean outside what seemed to be a controlled circle of corpses. Too clean and too smooth looking. This wasn't any type of architecture he was used to. Probably still human, it seemed the right size dimensions. As small as it was, that single fork and knife symbol comforted him. Those were human tools after all. The Imperium was as vast as it was diverse. Humans culturally became more different the farther away from Terra they were. Besides, it's not like John had been on any planet other than the grand Imperium fortress of Cadia.

Figuring his rest time was over, as his mental survival cycle kicked in, the battered Karskin rose. And with a sigh as some of his adrenaline wore off, he began walking. Or more of a combination of wading and limping, it was a terrible sight and John was glad he had his rebreather and gloves on. Worse has happened of course. This was nothing like his very own informal ascendance to the Karskins. Spotting a decent-enough conditioned las rifle, he picked it up. Checking the battery pack and power mode he was satisfied. Slinging the weapon on his back he continued his search. That's when he saw it.

A small but constant red blood trail leading away from his area of effect and leading behind a table. '_So this one is a coward'_ Pulling his dagger once again, he wanted to enjoy himself after all, and began approaching with a strut as confident looking as he could muster. But right before he could cross the vision threshold angle and revealing what's behind the table, muffled gunfire started to his rear. John whipped around and planted himself, searching for targets. In the center wall of the room, he noticed a peculiar looking door and 3 shuttered windows, side by side. The gunfire sounded like it came from beyond. He could not recognize the individual weapons being used, but did recognize the danger it would soon present. Determined to finish off his present target first, he turned back towards the table. A blurr of green jumped at him, as the trooper put up his hands in defense. Being knocked over at the sudden weight of the impromptu projectile, he fell on his back. _'I fucking hate Orks.' _Momentarily he struggled to get his knife hand out, then thrust upwards and plunged deep into the neck of the hopefully, final surviving greenskin.

The thing went limp as blood poured from the wound and onto his armor. '_Filthy Emperor damned creature...' _He threw the minor inconvenience off to his left as he got to his knees, remembering the gunfire he scrambled upwards. Before he found cover, he found his pack sticking out underneath a very dead and headless Private. Taking a moment to decide if it was the same White Shield private he saved what felt like days ago. His question was answered in the negative as an '8' was painted on the shoulder piece. Regardless Bearton quickly pushed the poor man's body off his pack and pulled it out. He dropped his lasgun on the floor as he put the straps around his shoulders, and hooked the battery pack into the input port of his armored suit. Helmet HUD restarting and shouldering his weapon in the low-ready, he glided over to an overturned thick looking table. The right side of the table gave him a rather good angle on the door or windows and hopefully was thick enough to give him cover, if not then momentary concealment. As he knelt, he cleared his working space on the ground and put down his bolt pistol, ready to grab if need be. And now he waited. As the seconds turned into a soft minute, the gunfire suddenly ceased. John prepared himself as his finger floated millimeters off the trigger. Then the doors flew open.

For the first time in years, the Kasrkin and veteran soldier of the Imperium was unsure of what to do. Time slowed to a halt and halfway into his squeeze of the trigger he let off. The three targets that entered the room were not guardsmen, nor were they Ork… Or the Arch Enemy. All had come to a complete halt after witnessing the massive amount of dead bodies in the room. Obviously not used to such sights. John's mind was racing. _'They look human, but that armor is weird. There's no Aquila or anything to signify Imperium allegiance. Inquisitor's maybe? It looks high tech, almost completely covering them. Could be Rouge trader voidsmen?' _His question into their allegiance was answered in the form of a young human girl. She popped up from an overturned food machine at the far end of the room.

"_**Please help us! New aliens came and-"**_The wild look on her face was replaced by one of terror as she realized her mistake. Without any words or hesitation, the three newly designated enemies turned and opened fired at once. Riddling the idiot women with holes as the rounds ripped and mangled whatever part of her body was exposed. Whatever allegiance these troopers had, they had just murdered a seemingly innocent Humancivilian. Those motherfuckers just sealed their fate. Using his covered position and that the enemies back was turned, John opened fire in a 3 round las burst. The burst hit the combatant on the far right and fell him like a sack of grain. Individual effects on target couldn't be seen as two targets still stood.

To give credit where credit was due they responded quickly. One walking forward opening fire as the left one sprinted off in a crude attempt at a flank. John got one more las round off at the center man as return fire came quick and forced him back into (hopefully) cover. The table held is integrity. A silent prayer to the Emperor was made before the trooper canted out the opposite side of the table and unleashed a hellish barrage of 9 las rounds into the sprinting enemy trying to make a wide encirclement. His machine spirit failing him however, the weapon whined the sound of a malfunction. Acting quickly he was determined to be aggressive. Dropping the lasgun he picked up the bolt pistol and stood. Centering his body so any incoming rounds would hit his center plate, he raised the small cannon with both hands. _'5 rounds.'_ Both soldiers fired at the same time. He felt multiple rounds 'ping' off his armor right as he got a second round of his own off. The second round was not needed. Seeing what the impact of the small 20mm explosive projectile did to this new and expensive looking armor was awe inspiring. His bullet had achieved complete penetration of the armored shoulder of his enemy and exploded inside. This explosive had completely blew off his arm and sent him flying so far backwards, the second round missed!

The still alive enemy let out a distorted, yet blood curdling scream of pain as he rolled around in a pile of similarly disfigured dead Imperials. The Kasrkin Warrior looked down, checking his armored plate. He noticed there was several small chunks missing, he had been hit at least 4 times before his round even hit the bastard. After checking for any other holes or blood he looked towards the crying man. As he was, defiantly a Human. Internally, John cringed, praying to every saint he could think of hoping he hadn't just killed an Inquisitor's retinue. He started approaching with Bolt pistol in his right hand then pulled his dagger with his left. _'No need to waste more ammo'_ Stepping over other bodies he stopped at the feet of the crawling man. Still on his back, he was attempting to wiggle further away as he spotted the intentionally grim and menacing looking figure, clad in dark green camouflage but covered in a coat of fresh blood. Standing at 6'4" outside of his armor, John knew he looked menacing and often applied that factor to every aspect of his life. Weather intimidating line Guardsmen forward in battle, or getting younger White Shields to do menial tasks for him.

Quickly checking his Auspex to make sure the general area was clear, John squatted down to get a better look. Dropping his bolt pistol behind him he got into the mount on top of the now whimpering trooper. He held his knife to the enemy's neck while ripping his helmet off.

For the second time in the same day. The Destroyer of Demons was confused and hesitated. This man was indeed human, initially extremely pale. But his eyes were completely purple. Not Cadian violet, but solid. Just solid purple with a lighter shade of the color at the center, where his cornea should have been. Along with that unsettling fact his skin was turned midnight black, almost like war paint, around his eyes and down to his nose. What looked like 3 vertical cracks in his skin also emanated the same color purple of the eyes.

John Bearton had another first as he noticed the distinct look of fear in the eyes of the Chaos worshipper. _**"Good. Fear me Heretic, for you now know the Fury of his Hammer."**_ Even though the man was already dying from blood loss, he would put the man down. With a quick motion he slid his knife across his throat and stood up. The helmet-less Soldier used his remaining arm and tried to close the gash in his throat, failing, he started to slowly fade away until death. Unsatisfied with the Heretical blood that now contaminated his family's dagger he backed away. Grabbing napkins from a fallen dispenser on the floor, he wiped the blood off. Sheathing it, he once again he surveyed the already familiar room. The room was quiet. Too quiet, perhaps. Silence wasn't a familiar concept as the backdrop of John's entire life, had been the massive engines of ships or the people in Cadias fortress cities. It had been a long time since he had been anywhere he could associate with the term 'Quiet'.

Just as the Kasrkin thought he had some time to rest, his Asupex glowed with a not-so-friendly red. Frowning, his work never complete, he scavenged what gear he could quickly gather. A holster for the bolt pistol was found and filled as he picked up another satisfactory looking Lasgun and a few power packs. With practiced ease he filled half of his grenade pouches and moved towards the door. His mental battle rhythm picked up where it left off as he stacked up by himself. This room had nothing left for him, and any survivors surely would have made themselves known by now. As he took a deep breathe to gain his composure, he quietly recited a litany to himself to prepare for immediate combat. _**"I Deny the Ruinous Powers; I will not suffer the Witch, the Mutant or the Heretic to live. May the Repentant be wrought in Saving Flames"**_

The immediate combat had not occurred so immediately. Attempting to use the door had not ended well for John. At first, he thought it motion activated. But nothing happened, then he looked for some type of panel or even a big green button would do. _'This is bullshit. 6 years of training and I can't open a warp-damned door' _Attempting to use his bio-implant enhanced strength to pry it open proved a waste. Now he was getting frustrated. He eyed the shuttered windows and went through the same process. _'I hate this fucking chow hall, it shouldn't be a prison cell.' _As a last ditch attempt, Bearton moved back to the door and shouldered his Lasgun. Turning the weapon to maximum power, flipping the safety and taking aim at the large circle in the center of the door.

'_**If brute force doesn't work, you're just not using enough brute force!' **_Las round hitting the door it cut a nasty gouge about half an inch thick showing exposed circuitry. Whatever he hit must of been important as the door flew open and revealed a very surprised looking Human female holding what seemed to be a side arm of some sorts. The woman was of lighter skin tone with black shoulder length hair. She also wore a skin tight white body suit with black sleeves and black high boots. Smiling under his helmet at the friendly face, he allowed himself to drop his rifle to the low ready in an attempt to seem less intimidating then a 6'6" fully armored Kasrkin covered in blood could already. As he opened his mouth to speak, she spoke for him in the form of a spitting submachine gun.

Caught out in the open like a fucking rookie, John flinched and attempted to dodge right pushing back into the chow hall to get time and space. Rounds pinged off his armor but one found its mark between armored plates in his left shoulder. _**"FUCK YOU BITCH!" **_He screamed as he let loose a round of his still maximum powered lasgun. The shot went wide as the woman moved incredibly fast pushing right. She gained solid cover behind the doorframe. After diving into his own cover behind yet another table he peeked up in time to see an orange light form out of sight, then a loud smashing sound. Following this unpleasant noise, the doors slammed shut once again. _'Did that really just happen?'_ He kept his weapon trained on the door until a minute passed. Once he was sure it was staying closed, the now three time injured Warrior (counting his concussion from the Orks) assed his latest wound. He found it negligible but was pissed he got hit regardless. One hand still on the rifle and using the top of the table for support. He used his free hand to pull out a combat stim from his medical pouch. Injecting himself with the chemical and tossing it aside.

John was furious by this point. At the probable-traitor(s), at the Orks, at that terribly designed door. _'What kind of backwater planet decided these doors were good to go?' _Regardless, he thought of a new solution. Setting down his pack he pulled a roll of heavy-duty tape out, never left home without it. He then pulled his only krak anit-tank grenade out. This was a worthy enough cause for it anyway. He hastily held the grenade in place as he taped it to the center of the door. Making sure it would hold on its own, Bearton grew a devious grin. He activated the timer and ran back behind his formidable table.

The massive explosion rocked the room. Its effects, immediate and satisfying. What was left was barely a door frame. Great chunks were taken out of the wall, ceiling and floor leaving a crater where the door once stood. The Kasrkin with vengeance on his mind shouldered his rifle and once again, into the breach.

She was gone. Not a surprise considering the amount of time passed but still aggravating, nonetheless. He scanned the room for targets but found only a line of 10ish bodies next to a wall. Most looked like civilian scientists, with same type of skin tight suit that woman had on with additional white lab jackets as well. They had fallen from the kneeling, likely executed. To John's right, he saw what looked like some type of security station. A small room with massive windows for walls. The door to this room was stuck open, leaving half the doorway closed for cover. Said cover was littered with bullet holes. Two armored bodies also lay in contorted ways, burnt black while still clinching their unknown weapons. That must have been the gunfire he heard. Silently he hoped that the flamethrower obviously used against these men was still not lurking around. He also identified a vast amount of bullet holes in the back wall. The quantity was about right for a small skirmish but the size of each he was abnormally small. _'Peculiar.'_ Movining on, he kept scanning, there were 2 doorways into the room besides his own, homemade door. The first was closed. So he grumbled as that meant the second was the only way to proceed. Being forced to go in a certain direction was never good. He pushed forward and right as he began tactically moving down the hallway. _**'The string has been cut loose, they can't fucking stop me now!'**_

Almost immediately after that thought, the bright, overhead lights cut out. Slowly replaced by the warm glow of emergency red. Shadows emerged, warped and moving. His exhausted mind playing tricks on him. Focusing his efforts, slowly on the connection to the floor, and the sights of his rifle. He continued pushing. The hallways he went through again, were unfamiliar. No heavy industrial or gothic edges and incline. It was shaped like an oval tube, moving in a singular direction. The walls were clean and free of Scripture, or portraits of saints. He hasn't even found a single Aquila or skull servitor. Then there was a disturbingly lack of combat. He should have seen something by now, las burns, bodies, hell even shell casings from auto guns? But nothing. Either the local PDF was complete garbage, which could very possibly be the case, of the Chaos forces moved quickly and at once. But the issue with that latter theory was, there was a distinct lack of blood and graffiti. No signs of worship or sacrifices to the dark gods. Not even any spikes or cages could be seen! As much as he hated the Arch enemy it was a familiar evil. The lack of combat slightly unsettled the Veteran. Following the hallways he moved quick, but cautiously. He came to a hallway 'T' junction. Scanning both directions as much as he could without exposing himself, he looked at the wall and found something finally familiar. Deeply squinting to make it out in the red overtone, he found a large crimson plus was printed on a wall with an arrow pointing to the left.

John decided an infirmary would be a good place to gather aid and treat himself while collecting any more medical packs he could. Blood still flowed slowly, yet constantly from the deep slash in his arm. His body just didn't have the calorie count to maintain his bio-regen. Hell, John couldn't even remember the last time he ate. It had to have been at least two days. Expelling that thought immediately, he shouldered his rifle once more and as a good friend and Death Kriegsman once told him _"Saddle up and push."_ The route was a rather straight shot. After a few minutes of a tactical patrol, he heard the unmistakable discharge of a lasgun. Distant, muffled and distorted yelling followed. Duty driven, John quickened his pace. There were more Heretics that needed purging from this place. Closing the distance quickly he came to another junction. He stopped and began 'pieing' it off. He could hear talking and some hastily made barricades down the hallway to his left. What looked like a full squad of those white clad armored troopers were in position attempting to get angles on and fire though a forcefully opened, oval door. They're attention had been all diverted into and past the door, either too stupid, or too confident to bother about posting rear security. _'Amateurs.' _The Kasrkin would punish there laziness. As they were only about 20 meters away, John took advantage of the elongated shadows moved Inbetween the barricades. He took up residence behind a man sized box and did on last check on his rifle. He turned the power setting to about 50%, which was your average shot for lightly armored targets. As John began to pull and prime a frag grenade out, he began quietly reciting a prayer to whoever was listening. _**"Break the arms of the wicked and depraved; make them account for their crimes and let none survive."**_

With the grenade properly loosed onto his foes, he sighted in and began his holy work. Automatic las fire burned through a group of stacked and clumped up soldiers. 4 fell in the initial burst as others scrambled for cover from this new threat. The grenade chose this time to explode as one bold heretic attempted to toss it back. The grenade would never harm a true servant of the Emperor after such a prayer and exploded in hand. The blast erased much of its holder while throwing hot metal fragmentation into the others nearby. Half the enemy squad was dead before a single return shot was fired. John kept up the constant firing, attempting to pin down the entire hallway. This of course only worked momentarily as a large shield was now brought up and started moving towards him. Unhappy with the now advancing enemy he focused fire on the shield bearer. Another shield was brought up to close the gaps and formed an interlocking wall about a meter wide. They were advancing too fast, not enough time to punch through! John toke cover, as the freed up enemy started to fire and maneuver on his own position. John knew something had to be done.

He replaced the power pack in the weapon and shouldered it on his left side. Simultaneously, he undid the holster and grabbed his bolt pistol with his right. The dominate hand needed to be used to support such a large caliber. Exposing himself to the enemy, he focused his automatic fire to the left and into the maneuvering enemy while emptying his bolt pistol at the shield wall. The Emperor had to be watching over him as he caught one foe out in the open still running to his left, while his rugged pistol burst tore through the shields and their bearers. Dropping the bolt pistol he gripped his lasrifle with his right hand and began firing out of his left shoulder still, finding new targets in two surprised looking riflemen left precariously out in the open with the disintegration of the shield wall.

Arrogance would overcome his luck however. An incoming round caught John in the face. It tore through his rebreather and his jaw. It exited through his cheek and lodged itself in the interior of his helmet, but the damage was done. He was now on the floor, facing the ceiling yet again, like a weak calf unable to stand. John tasted his own blood.

Bearton found his humanity in the form of exhaustion, his mind willed him to move but his body painfully disagreed. _**'Get up coward, you're going to die'**_ He tried swallowing some blood to breathe, but bits of bone went down with it, scratching and cutting his throat. Pushing himself, he weakly pulled his dagger out. The grip bringing a comfortable familiarity to him. But he needed energy. The stims started wearing off and the adrenaline in his body had long been gone. Attempting to lean on his elbow brought a sharp pain. His elbow gave out as John hit the floor, once again. _**'Get the fuck up John, the arch enemy is coming. What they will do to you wil-' **_His thoughts were cut short with a sweeping kick to the head. Violently snapping to the opposite side, and falling limp. He felt himself lose control. The warm glow of red was fading. He was tired, lack of blood maybe? His final effort of consciousness was to attempt to remember a prayer, anything to give his soul comfort. It was hard, so many words floating around that he couldn't understand. He mentally reached out into the darkness and grabbed the first thing he could. _'The Universe is dark and my soul, weak. Be my shield, my torch. Hail him on Terra….' The last thing John saw before fading off, was crimson beams. _

'_I can't fucking die, I won't fucking die'_

'_I can't fucking die, I won't fucking die'_

**Here you go you boys, another chapter for your pleasure. Hope you enjoyed the violence. Also hope my lack of English skills didn't show too badly. **_**Fuck you**_** I'm drunk.**


	3. Trouble in Martian Town

**Trouble in Martian Town**

The rumble of the shuttle was comforting. It helped cement his mental state as the shuttle descended in atmosphere. The engines were loud, but again, comforting. The brightly lit troop compartment however, was all but silent. As the mood was grim but hopeful. Only the sound of rattling equipment and final weapons checks broke the Human silence. Every man and women onboard thought about their purpose and mission. Usually, he was nervous. Pre-mission jitters; as everyone was susceptible to the very, Human, condition. But he felt no fear, or nervousness. Anger, anger and contempt consumed his very soul. Terra was burning. This deeply disturbed the Warrior. His place was there, fighting off the invaders. Protecting the Cradle of Humanity and the Innocents stuck there. But here he was, millions of miles away, on this god forsaken, and inhospitable rock. He knew that his duties that needed to be performed were important. Mission comes before all else after all, and maybe this Prothean tech can help win the war. But those Dark Space, _demons_, keep creeping into his thoughts.

The red 'go' light turned yellow. Thoughts on hold, Staff Sergeant Christopher Lance performed his last weapon check. Condition one was applied at the sounds of thermal clips being inserted. Any comforting items pulled out for the descent were quickly stowed. Pouches closed and latched. Grenades checked, least one fall out in an in-opportune time. He quickly looked around, making sure his squad was ready. This would be a quick infiltration. The whirling of the engines increased, as even with the mass dampeners on, he could feel change of the angle of approach.

"_**30 SECONDS!"**_ Bellowed the co-pilot. Lance gritted his teeth. He hated flying, one too many rough landings. After all, hovering, takeoff and landing were the most dangerous times for any flying craft.

"_**10 SECONDS!" **_All stood, grabbing the ceiling rail and readying themselves. The men closet to the door took position, ready to run or jump off the craft.

The light changed to green. Troop hatch exploding upwards revealing the crimson, Martian surface. It was high noon for this part of Mars, but the visor of his helmet was already shaded to facilitate a smooth transition. Each man filled out as quickly as humanely possible and set up in a tactical 180 degree circle. With the 8th and final warrior stepping out of the craft, it rose. Doors closing and shooting upwards out of shoulder fired rocket range. Everyone was set in security, watching any angle that they could be fired on from. The landing site for the Kodiak was not accidental. It was already cleared due to being only 3 minutes behind Commander Shepherd's commando squad. But better to be cautious then dead after all. Sergeant Lance stood up.

"_**FIRST TEAM UP!" **_And with that he departed, taking his place in the middle of his four man team. The other four would keep landing zone security for extraction. His squad was made up of exclusively chosen Veteran Marines and 'N' type Special Forces. All quiet professionals. They moved tactically and purposely down an incline littered with signs of recent combat and a few armored bodies. All were clad in Systems Alliance Marine armor. Executed, by the look of it. Continuing further, he saw the white armor of Cerberus soldiers. _'I fucking knew it. This screams like standard Cerberus TTPs.' _All were lying dead in different contorted and bleeding fashions. Shepherd was as vicious as she was proficient in the art of war. Lance knew no foe would survive her coming, but still reminded his team to keep their eyes forward and on alert. He was fairly certain Shepherd wouldn't have left any alive for his team to come across. Besides, he was on a tight schedule. _**"Keep pushing, the dead are as such"**_

Passing multiple Cerberus-marked trucks, he began thinking of an approximate enemy troop count. '_There's about 5 trucks here, which I can see, with who knows how many shuttles parked around the place. I'd say numbered around a company plus some.' _Not very good odds. Even with a baker's dozen Alliance commandos currently spread out on the facility grounds. It'd work out. He was confident in his own abilities.

Moving forward they arrived on an elevator, automatically clearing the shaft as the entered. Former a miniature 360 around the edges of the elevator, Vance ordered one of the team members, A Corporal 'Cold' if his label was correct, to activate the elevator. Cold activated the holo-keyboard and began typing in a simple command. The gears of a machine started moving and the main door closed. Oxygen became spitting back into the airlock as the room pressurized. With a chime of completion, the large cargo platform rose at an agonizingly slow pace. It seemed like the galactic standard. Nearing a full minute, and what seemed like only 10 feet in height gained. The platform stopped, revealing a large bay filled with all different sized contains and even a few vehicles. Distant mass-accelerator fire could be heard with the occasion sound of a small explosion. _'She sure does work fast'_ With the room's dead occupants currently being policed by two of his men, Lance took the time to give a situation report to the commander.

"_**Onyx Actual this is Onyx 2" **_it took a moment, but a distinctive low, somewhat feminine voice came through. _"Send it" __**"Main cargo bay secured without contact; Break; Moving to secure objective Bravo, How copy?" **_The gunfire in the background of the response seemed of no concern to the speaker. "_Solid copy on all; be advised, we have multiple conflicting reports of a 3__rd__ party; Nothing confirmed as of yet" _A 3rd Party? Could it be the Reapers? '_No'_ they would have noticed them by now, they're not the stealthiest of creatures. That only left a mercenary group of some type. They would soon find out regardless. _**"Roger will proceed with caution; Onyx 2 out."**_

"_Cold! We good?"_ Corporal Cold looked up from the current body he was on and replied. "_All good Staff Sarn't!" _Nodding at the efficiency of his newest team, Lance started making his way towards the far entrance. "_Form up, were pushing!"_ After a few 'Rahs' of agreement, the combat team formed up in a staggered patrol and moved ever forward.

As if waiting for them, the main overhead lights turned off. Red emergency lights pulsed on and illuminated the route ahead. Ominous for sure, but it didn't necessarily mean that his team was compromised. His visor lit white, standard white phosphorous night vision of the 22nd century. Continuing on the first level, a pressured sealed door blocked their way. Quite standard issue among the more inhospitable colonies. Especially of the various Mars settlements and facilities. It was also a barrier in-between them and their mission. _**"Victor! Get that cutter up!" **_Servicemen 1st class Victor moved with purpose. Starting his work while the squad took positions in cover off to the side. The torch was lit as sparks flew. Not very efficient but the best thing they had to cut the door open without tearing a hole into the near-vacuum of the planet atmosphere.

This was taking too long. Not only that, but the cutter projected extreme light and a noise of superheated plasma that was hard to miss. Some, roving Cerberus unit was bound to spot them eventually. Victor was 3 quarters away done now, cutting from top to bottom. Taking a knee he tried to present the smallest target possible while still being able to work. That's when Chris heard it. The all telling sign of a loud radio keying the mic. The 'tell', sounded close, probably just around the corner of the 'T' junction about 10 meters away. _"Victor what the fuck is the hold up?"_ He hissed. Victor, fully aware of the coming sound of combat responded in his heavy Irish-descent type accent. _"Boss just give me 30 seconds!"_ He then self-applied a fortification in anticipation, he was in the open after all.

Thirty seconds was manageable. Not preferred, but manageable. Corporal Cold had placed himself on the right side of the hallway, behind a column. Naturally a left handed shooter, he was the first to spot the Cerberus team. Immediately opening up with the team's N-Type Typhoon light machine gun, he felled the shields of the first man while the others were forced back around the corner. Exploiting the damage done Lance sighted in with his own M37 Falcon. A short controlled burst put an end to the exposed rifleman. Incoming smoke grenades 'popped' and started filling the halls with noxious chemicals. As much weight as it added, he was glad for his suit's own oxygen supply. The 4th Alliance commando returned the favor of the foe's smoke, with his own cluster grenade. _**"CLUSTER OUT!"**_

Lance took a moment to mentally berate himself for not knowing this trooper's name. New squad after all. A second later, he heard the distinct 'clank' sound of the grenade hitting the floor, then the small container exploded. Now the primary detonation was brutal in its own respect, but the secondary explosions are what truly killed. Throwing hot shrapnel in every direction, Sergeant Lance hoped that the walls held and no explosive decompression happened; and that maybe an anticipated shield bearer or any enemy really, was killed. Thankfully, the room stayed pressurized and no dreaded shield emerged from the smoke screen.

"_**BREACH OPEN BOSS!"**_ The doors retracted halfway open, opening a gap about the size of a man. Alright, progress was good! _**"LEAPFROG THROUGH STARTING WITH VICTOR!" **_The squad complied expertly, putting down suppressing fires and retreating through the breach, each taping the next man in line. Incoming fire now picking up, Lance let loose another frag grenade into the smoke. A hard tap on the shoulder set him into motion. Activating his own fortification he took steps backwards. Prayers on his lips hoping his shield would hold. Almost immediately, rounds impacted on his shields. Two steps into his movement, the second grenade exploded. This momentarily dampened the incoming fire once more. As the last man through, the veteran Marine placed his foot in the corner of the half opened doorway, and used to leverage to dolphin-dive right and forward; into cover. With the proficiency of an experienced warrior, Corporal Cold pulled his Omni-blade and began smashing the control panel in an animalistic fashion. This closed the door, and ceased the incoming fire. Hopefully for good. That is unless Cerberus had a breaching tool as well. Odds are they did, so that meant only a small delay. The small team knew they couldn't win in a protracted battle, so they had to move. Thermal clips and grenades weren't infinite, after all.

Rising from the ground, Lance felt the soreness of the already-overused muscles of his body. What the hell was all that gene-therapy for if he always felt tired and sore after a firefight? Regardless, he set the question aside for Chakwas and focused back in on the mission. He brought up his holo-map. _'Alright the infirmary is 100 meters away, 'as the crow flies'. _Noticing the abundant long hallways and junctions of the facility that was defiantly, NOT, designed for a defensive battle. _**"Alright Gents! Home stretch! One last push and we can start getting the fuck off this rock!" **_Cpl Cold let off a belligerent "_EEEERRAHHHH" _in response. _"Alright Cold, you can take point then. I'll bring up the rear." _The happy-go-lucky man took the order in stride, _"Roger SARN'T!" _Under his helmet, _Staff_ Sergeant Lance scoffed and smiled to himself. Guess he found his first personality of the team.

Half the reason Lance took up the rear was to make personally sure that Cerberus wasn't following with an infiltrator of some sorts. The other half was to identify the fourth man in his team. He felt sloppy, almost disappointed in himself at his lack of mission prep. He was initially just so angry about the Reapers…The man's initals were automatically put as 'D.K.' but that's not a name. After an awkward side step to check his tag, Chris spied the name label along with the dagger and crossed lighting of the Alliance Marines. A Private Kicker. '_Wait a Private? On a specops team?' _This confused the man's mind, as his body went through the motions of combat gliding down the hallways. Clearing open doors, pieing off hallways, and constantly checking his rear for that White armor. '_How did a Private end up on my team? I knew they were desperate but damn.' _Perhaps the man was still a veteran but just got busted down, that was the most viable option. Brought back to reality but an indicator in his HUD, Objective Bravo was only 50 meters away. Quietly he changed his team's ROE. _**"Slow the pace, only fire if the target is absolutely confirmed enemy intent. This 3**__**rd**__** party is still lurking around somewhere." **_Pushing as quietly as they could to the final T-Junction hallway, the team stacked up. Not bothering to pie as time was essential.

As the go ahead was about to be given, he halted. Commander Shepard opened up on the radio. Her voice sounded… disturbed, shocked almost. Taking her time to say each word as if she had to think about it individual. **"**_**ONYX 2, essential situation update, Break;**__ consider the 3__rd__ party to be extremely dangerous. Currently unidentified, but Holy shit. There's bodies everywhere." _Extremely concerned over this new development, he gathered his thoughts and spoke back "_Onyx actual, do you need support? Bravo is secondary, to Omega"_ Remembering her place as commander, the response came quick. _**"Negative, procced to Bravo; Actual out."**_ While as slightly unsettling as that report seemed, he still had his orders. _"Alright gents, send it. Kicker push." _

They should have pied the hallway off, they should have _fucking_ pied it off. A speeding red lance of light hit Pvt Kicker as he rounded the corner, felling him instantly. Going off pure training the rest pushed forward, ducking and dodging into the nearest cover. Lance looked backwards and saw Kicker boldly start crawling in towards cover. The light leaving a devastation and singed gouge in the right side of his helmet. Mass accelerator fire started. The Sergeant noticing almost instantly that none of it was incoming. He quickly assessed the situation as he determined they had not been noticed, and the light was perhaps a stray round? _**"STAY THE FUCK DOWN, HOLD FIRE UNTIL I SAY"**_ His team snapped their heads at him, all giving him confused looks. Lance peered around the corner, trying to expose as little as he could. A full Cerberus squad was engaging an unforeseen threat. An explosion tore into their right side, ripping apart 4 men in a terrific fashion. This was followed up by more red lights racing over the heads of the covered Marines. Despite, the threat presented, most of the team was terribly curious at this new weapon. Kicker finally managed to get close enough for Cold to pull him into cover, applying medi-gel and giving a thumbs up to the Platoon Sergeant. _'Little victories'_ The Cerberus squad was viciously being mauled. More than half were dead under the barrages of red, but they were advancing with two shields. Extremely content with letting both parties kill each other, the Alliance squad held firm.

The bellowing bark of a heavy caliber weapon took the Marines out of their trance. The advancing Cerberus shield bearers feel with completely blown out torsos. '_Jesus Christ.' _But it seemed Cerberus had prevailed in the end, as suddenly the weapons fire stopped. _**"Alright, Cold on me when I give the signal. Victor, stay with Kicker and pick up the rear sector." **_Silent green indicator lights blipped up next to the initials of each of his members in his HUD. Making eye contact with the other Marine, he held his non-firing hand in a fist, and pumped it rapidly. _**'GO.'**_ They both rose in synchronization and sighted in down range. The two standing Cerberus troopers as proof of the small victory over the unknowns. _'30 meters.' _The first burst let loose, draining the shields of one of the enemy Operatives. Responding in a mechanical fashion, they whipped around and let their own bursts off. Rounds hitting his personal shield, Lance took cover and started prepping a concussive shot. Cold began his own side of the fight with an elongated burst of Typhoon light machine gun fire. This put a halt to the coordinated advance of Cerberus. More smoke was popped landing almost directly on Lance and Cold's position, leaving them near blind. As Lance popped he let loose some fully automatic fire through the smoke in an attempt to blindly hit something. Cold followed suit until he overheated and had to replace his thermal clip.

"_**URRRAHHHHHHH!"**_ Sergeant Lance couldn't see what was happening, but he could defiantly hear it. A loud, but young voice screamed out. The smoke in front of him in illuminated in red bursts. The distorted voice of Cerberus rifleman cried out in pain, as sharp scratch of metal on metal was heard. Lance acted fast, knowing staying in the smoke would do nothing for him. "_**COLD WERE PUSHING!" **_Vaulting over his most recent cover, Lance took careful but blind steps forward, trying to find his next piece of life saving, chest high, piece of metal. A mass accelerator burst was heard, then another red burst of light. Slowly the smoke dissipated. The 3rd party finally revealing itself as they moved forward, and only meters away, a short armored man was stabbing a recently killed Cerberus officer with a _Bayonet! _A Bloody bayonet of all things! He knew they were still issued, but this sword sized sharpened piece of metal was affixed onto his long boxy weapon.

Completely thrown off by this revelation. He recovered quickly. _**"HALT! DROP THE WEAPON!" **_The foreign man pulled his bayonet out of the chest of the Deadman, and slowly stood, turning to face the new contacts. As stated before, he was a short man. But a boy would be more accurate assessment. The young face had black bruises on both sides of his head, coming from his ear area. It was also noticeably pale, like a deep space crewman. But what was unique were his eyes. Bright violet! It must be some type of cosmetic gene mod or therapy. The majority of his head was covered in a dark olive drab helmet with a prominent white stripe down the center. What passed for an allegiance symbol was in the center of the helmet, above the forehead. A platinum, jawless skull with wings on either flank. His chest plate covered the upper portion of his torso, while large shoulder pauldrons covered from his collarbone to nearly his elbow. They were additionally marked with the numbers '01' painted in white. The only thing that covered the rest of his body was a brown-green battle fatigue of some type. Defiantly not meant for Martian combat. Black high leather boots covered his lower shin and ankles. The uniform in general looked plain and large, too big in several places. And the face again looked young, un-experienced in the stresses of combat.

"_**Gothago **__**fuck**__** yothf"**_ Was that some fucking insult? He defiantly heard a 'fuck' in that gibberish. The young warrior in front of him seemed to eye him up, as if taking no effect from the attempt to stop him. Lance opened his mouth to say something again but the damn boy turned and ran down the hallway! '_Who the fuck are these people?' "__**Cold secure the area!" **_Taking off in stride,

Lance easily caught the young conscript. This was not because of the speed of the man, but primarily because the boy stopped at a fallen comrade. The fallen man was drastically different in contrast to the boy. Larger even then his team's machine gunner, the Soldier must have been 2 full meters in height!

And fully armored and helmed to boot. Not just a chest piece, but also shin, knee, thigh and forearm plates. This wasn't as protecting as Marine Raider armor, or even standard issue for that matter. But damn it looked thick. The pattern was camouflaged brown and green as well. His shoulder was marked with a large '59' on one side. The other had double stacked white stripes. This was obviously a more senior trooper, perhaps it was the boys Corporal.

He was in rough shape. His tricep was soaked with blood, and his helmet looked in no better condition. A chunk was taken out of the top part of the skull piece, a probably grazing round, while another hole was made at the bottom of his helm, shooting upwards into his head. If this Soldier was still alive, he would need medi-gel, and fast. The younger Trooper slung his rifle, bent down and picked up the large man by the chest, in an attempt to drag him. Lance was astonished at the discipline of the boy as he kept a cool head in the presence of his dying unit leader. He couldn't let this boy do this by himself. It was clear that he was headed back towards the infirmary, as Cpl Cold was already inside with the team securing any survivors. His good hearted nature started to show as Lance collapsed his rifle on his back and grabbed the armpit of the senior Foreign Trooper. '_Holy fuck he's heavy' _He must have been at least 300 pounds with all that shit on, even without weapons. Finally at the door, they walked inside backwards, with the man in tow.

Doctors and scientists swarmed around them, helping pull the weight, as they entered the room. One shouted "_**Go to your right! We have a table ready!" **_With a grunt, Lance complied. What felt like an eternity passed, his suit pushing cool air throughout his body, struggling to compensate as his internal temperature rose. While dragging the Staff Sergeant noticed the current situation in the infirmary. Boxes and cabinets were already being piled up in front of the door, weary for another Cerberus attack. Some of the human staff had pistols. Not many, at maximum 4. Private Kicker lie up against the near wall with his helmet off, a wrap around his lower face, but weapon still in hand. _'Most defiantly a seasoned Veteran.' _

They must have got close enough to the table as they continued to drag down the aisle next to a table. Two of the larger scientists got on the legs. _**"1, 2, 3, lift!"**_ As they excreted maximum effort, the heavy causality slowly rose. The table was only knee high, but it was still difficult. Finally laying him down, Lance backed away, taking a breath. With head mounted flashlights shining, he knew the Doctors had him now.

Taking one too many steps, he bumped into another table. Mechanically he flinched, and turned around. Another one of the foreigners lay unconscious. Another young female to be specific, she couldn't have been more than 20! Tall and athletically built unlike the younger trooper. Her armor and her top battle fatigue had been removed, leaving only the undergarment with her pale, bare skin. The soldier's shoulder looked crushed, while dried blood still had its mark below her nose. Medigel had been applied but whoever these people were, they had not fared well in battle.

Lance must have been staring too long, he felt eyes on him and turned to see the only conscious foreign trooper inches away and staring up at him. Anger and contempt in his eyes. The Sergeant got the message, backing away from both bodies with his hands raised in mock defense. Cpl Cold approached him to talk. _"Hey boss, Kicker is going to be good. He can still see and fight but he's gonna need surgery."_ Thinking for a moment before replying, Lance was now the most senior man in the room. Steps had to be taken to get everyone out. _**"Start getting everyone ready to go. No personal belongings, only the essentials. Start assigning stretcher teams. We leave in 10" **_Simple and to the point, everything clear except for one topic. _"What of those green kids? We leaving them?"_ And that seemed to be the question of the day. _"Standby, ill figure it out. Get two additional stretcher teams ready to go just in case." _Stepping off as he finished, now Lance needed answers.

"_**Hey who's in charge here!?" **_Bellowing to make sure everyone could hear. Parting from the team of 4 doctors currently working on the new arrival, a short, fair skinned, female approached. With a confident tone she began "_I'm Doctor Kirk, I've been managing all the survivors here for the past couple of hours."_ The women was a bit older but she seemed good enough for going through such a tragic event as a massacre. "_Alright Doctor, Corporal Cold over there.." _He pointed "_Is organizing the evacuation. Get with him for the details and personnel assignments. But before all that, who the __**fuck **__are those kids over there." _Quite simply, she motioned over to the back wall of the infirmary. _"Survivors." _

Lance's mouth stood agape. A long line of corpses completely covered the base of wall. Each clad in the simple plate armor of the Green-men with different states of appearance. Some with _only _large holes in their bodies, while looking peaceful besides for the mortal injury. Others were as bad as to have their head, and a multitude of other limbs removed. A pile of equipment, taking the form of various boxy weapons and packs was also piled in the corner. This prompted a massive amount of questions to form in his head. Attempting to narrow the questions down to mission-essential was hard.

"_**This doesn't look like Cerberus' doing."**_ Anticipating the question, she answered quickly. _"Well you'd be right about that, maybe. We're not sure exactly what happened, but it's going to be in my nightmares for years. One moment all was normal, treating a few sprained ankles, then, the temperature dropped below freezing and a purple vortex overtook the room. The bodies literally feel from the ceiling. All equally dead except for those two." _She pointed towards the unconscious girl and the young conscript currently standing protectively over his Sergeant, currently being operated on. Lance noticed that some type of white script on was on his upper back, near the top of his armor, in some foreign script.

"_**Alright then, so those two popped out of a portal from hell. But what about that big fucker?" **_A solid question, considering the circumstances. _"Haven't seen him before. I'd give my last paycheck assuming that another one of those portal things opened up somewhere else around here." _What the hell was he supposed to report to Commander Shepherd? Like seriously. What the fuck. _**"Have they said anything about who they are? Or anything about them, like the weird armor with the skull fetish." **_The good Doctor considered the question for a moment, trying to convey all she knew. _"We attempted to talk to the younger one, but he appears to speak in some form of broken English that even our translators couldn't pick up. Besides a few select curse words apparently."_

The perceptive young trooper apparently sensed that he was being talked about, he turned and saw the pair staring. He glanced back one last time at his Corporal, and seeing him in good hands, he started walking towards the two. Lance turned fully towards the approaching man.

Trying to start off on a good foot, he extended his hand for a traditional greeting. The trooper eyed his eye, like he was unfamiliar with the gesture. Lance felt awkward _**"Uhh ok then.. Whats, Your"**_ He pointed at the boy _**"Naaammmeee." **_Somewhat understanding the gesture, he spoke back like he was talking to a child. _**"Tyyee-bee-russ. Tiberius." **_Lance didn't appreciate the disrespect of the tone, but continued on as the time was ticking. _**"We.." **_Making a hand motion to gesture everyone in the room. _**"Are, Leaviingg" **_He made a walking motion then pointed towards the door. _**"You" **_Pointing back at the boy, and then his friends as well _**"Leave with us." **_Concluding his dramatic display of hand motions, he eagerly waited for a response.

"_**Ahh, No." **_The young warrior shook his head in the negative. _**"NO? Why the hell not?" **_Refusing to speak further, he instead whipped around at the sound of a great roar. Lance took an aggressive step forward on seeing the once wounded and unconscious Sergeant-type trooper rise and screaming, as a young medical technician backed away rapidly with a set of recently discharged defibrillators. The boy ran towards the now shirtless and angry looking man. Half of the man's face was covered in a cloth wrap, similar to Kickers, but primarily covering his jaw and right cheek. What parts weren't covered, had an aura of youth to it. His eyes had a deep anger with dark black bags under his eyes. There was a particularly large scar on his face as well. Running from forehead to chin-wrap just in front of the ear.

"_**Corporal! Corporal! Outh ragh velt!"**_ Moving to his side, the younger boy proceeded to calm the rather larger looking young man. Lance had his hand on his pistol, watching the man keenly. But with wolf like eyes, the big man scanned the room, even lingering on the Staff Sergeant himself for a second. He slowly swung his legs around and off the gurney. Silently denying any further medical aid as he personally assessed his wounded arm and face. He stepped off the gurney and began outfitting himself with his damaged armor, all the while the young trooper talked his ear off.

Doctor Kirk re-approached Lance and started whispering. _"Sergeant, I've had my omni work on a translator while passively listening in and recording what they've been saying. I'll air-drop you what I have so far, but it's not complete." _He accepted the transfer with his helmet module while still eyeing the foreign soldiers. His mission was still at stake, the odds of finishing only increasing with every passing minute. _**"Doctor they have declined our help, we leave immediate-"**_

An explosion rocked the room, staggering or felling everyone in the room. The far wall's previously barricaded door exploded in a fireball. Cerberus operatives rushed through the room, with rifles raised. There paper white armor finely illuminated by the overhead red lights. They opened fire on any too dazed to seek cover, which included the good Doctor Kirk. Responding as quickly as they could, the Alliance Special Forces group recovered and began immediate actions. Lance pulled the trigger sending rounds into the barrier of one foe. '_Return fire. Take cover, Return accurate fire.'_ He dove behind a crate, canting out and firing again, trying to push the Cerberus troopers back into cover. Through his peripherals, Lance could see Private Kicker take a burst of mass accelerated rounds to the face, while protecting a scientist with his own body. He cringed internally and continued firing. He dropped one white-clad rifleman as another took his place. Spotting the Staff Sergeant, the foe pushed, determined to cut the head off the team. The burst of the Typhoon was heard, it dropped the barriers of the said trooper as Lance himself pulled the trigger. His rounds impacted true and killed the Cerberus Operative. _'Suppress, assess, move, kill.' _As the tactical cycle beat the drums of battle in his head, his body obeyed.

Smoke once again shrouded the room. The situation was not looking good. Around 4 scientists have been killed that he could see, along with his own Private Kicker. They still had to push out and to the hanger for exfil too. This wasn't looking good. Lance heard footsteps closing In on him and stood, that was an error. The more aggressive enemy had gotten closer than the Sergeant thought, and he held a shotgun. The first blast completely dropped his shields, he even felt a few larger pellets bounce from his armor. '_This is it..'_ A red lance of energy passed dangerously close next to his shoulder, he felt the heat of its passing. And witnessed the evidence of its going in the form of a massive, cauterized hole in the right chest of the shotgun-wielding Cerberus Soldier. Ducking down and looking back, he saw the recently arisen foreign Corporal holding his boxy weapon and moving to cover.

'_At least they understand whose on their side'_ with a small relaxation. The white stripped boy ran up next to him and started returning fire. Now they were getting somewhere. _**"COLD GET SOME SUPPRESSION UP! VICTOR GET SOME FUCKING FRAGS OUT!" **_Each man wordlessly complied, the affirmation being the dat-dat-dat of the Typhoon and the activation sound of a frag moving away from their respective positions. Slowly but surely the enemy was being repelled. Frag's exploded, puncturing Cerberus armor, dropping another unlucky pair. But just as victory seemed so close something unseen happened.

A incinerate shot came flying through the smoke, illuminating the darkened room with its orange, deadly glow. It was headed straight towards him. Time slowed, acting out of instinct alone, he flinched left and down trying to get back into cover. The shot, being about chest high narrowly missed him. Turning his head backwards, he saw the incinerate's final destination. A terrible mistake was made. The youthful looking White Stripped Boy was exposed, caught trying to move to another piece of cover. His eyes were wide in fear. Comparatively green compared to the Marine Raider, his only reaction was too freeze. Without shields to stop the blast, it hit him directly in the face. Seeing the fireball erupt was painful even to watch. The young trooper dropped his rifle, face melting as his helmet caught fire. His hands came up to his face to try and put out the fire. The scream was intense, his young voice projected and reverberated throughout the room. Falling to the floor, he started to roll.

Lance had to act quickly, he dropped his own weapon and particularly slid to the falling boy. The veteran Sergeant was quick on the draw, omni gel already prepped for when he put out the fire. He grabbed the panicking boy's helmet, tossing the still flaming object aside and started applying a heavy dosage of the gel. Someone screamed behind Chris, knowing his boys had the new breach in good hands he instead focused on the young boy in his hands.

A massive weight first applied itself to his shoulder, pushing him slightly. Then another weight added itself to his helmet, immediately making him bend over forwards. Victor's thick potato eating accent yelled out: _**"SQUIRTER!"**_ The weight departed as suddenly as it came. Chris looked up, a woman was mantling the high barricade infront of him. He heard a nearby scientist say quizzically _**"Dr. Eva?!"**_ Servicemen Victor ran up to the Staff Sergeant, and out of breath he explained: _"Sarn't, she literally sprinted out of the breach with some inhuman ass speed. Jumped right over the fucking barricade. We killed the rest of the fuckers thoug-" _Staff Sergeant Lance was pissed as of this moment. Today was not his day. _**"WE ARE LEAVING NOW! GET YOUR SHIT!"**_

With the firefight over, a Doctor came over to oversee the now whimpering boy. The boy slowly got up onto his elbows, and made sounds of intense pain. His face was fucked, nearly blind. As quickly as the woman came, the Foreign Corporal approached the same barricade the women had just jumped over, and started ripping apart it apart. _**"Where the fuck are you going?" **_The fully armored Kasrkin trooper continued his work. "_Get up White Shield, you're in charge of the Medicae now" _He then disappeared beyond. _'What is with these people?' _

Now relatively calm once again, Lance picked up the command position. _**"Ladies and Gentlemen, pick up the wounded, leave the dead. We leave now!"**_

…

**Who the fuck goes on a mission with only 2 other dudes? Leave a review. If I don't like it, I'll fight you.**


	4. My Shield is Disgust

**My Shield is Disgust**

He was breathing hard, sweat was falling in beads down his forehead. His bandages were soaked with blood and sweat, they started coming loose. The temperature control systems were not enough. Dual stims to both legs were the only thing keeping him awake and alive.

Somehow he was still up and running. Only his mind's need for revenge at this bitch. Not only had she humiliated him the first time they met, being tagged by a round of hers. But now she had committed high treason against the Imperium. All that at the cost of that young White Shield's face. She would not get away, not this time.

Catching up was somewhat easy. The specially designed combat stims worked fast and in tandem with his own regenerative gene mods. Slowly but surely his gashes and bullet holes were healing. It would take a long time, especially for the bone to heal, but it would happen. There was no time to rest, regardless. But she was fast and agile. Easily vaulting over chest high boxes and barricades, avoiding any las-rounds he could fire with some inhumane reaction time.

Rage guided his single-mindedness, hallway after hallway, corridor after corridor. His strength powered through anything she could throw, back at him. Boxes pushed to block his way were tossed aside. He was gaining ground. He reached out with his free hand, attempting to grab the female's hair and rip it backwards. As inches separated the two, the Women planted her foot and dove right into a new hallway.

The Kasrkin had too much weight behind himself though, his momentum carried him much farther then acceptable. As he tried to stop himself, his feet caught on one another and he fell. _**"FUCKING BITCH!" **_Bearton gritted his teeth. Another setback, yet again he willed himself forward. Driving ever onwards, he picked himself up and ran after the unknown Woman once again. As he rounded the corner however, he was greeted by staring down the barrels of a very large and threatening looking weapon mounted to the ceiling. '_Oh fuck'_

With the whirl of barrels spinning up, it started ripping rounds down the hallway. John sidestepped right and rolled into and behind a pillar. A loud 'thump' of his armor on metal and the snap of passing rounds giving him confirmation that he was, in fact, behind solid cover. The fire kept up for another few seconds, keeping him tucked snugly in cover. As the fires ceased momentarily, John poked his head out to gain some insight on his current situation. The death funnel of a hallway he was in was around 20 meters long, scarcely populated by tiny pieces of cover in-between him and a hail of metal of bullets. The woman he was chasing was gone. Damnit she was fast. With a battle plan starting to form in his head, he unslung his lasrifle and checked it for damage.

John was driven to continue the hunt of this Heretic, but this Emperor Forsaken gun emplacement was in his way. Taking advantage of the pause in fires, he stood and prepared himself. He figured that the half second pause in-between the gun identifying, activating, and firing would give him time to advance. Slowly but surely he could make it. Probably.

Having hyped himself up sufficiently, Bearton took off. He made a mad dash only about 5 meters into a metal cabinet. The whine of the gun was all too apparent in his ear. More rounds came to punish any mistake, alas, there were no such mistakes this time. Taking a breath, the Veteran Warrior prepared himself to begin the process once again. As he gained ground, he got closer to the emplacement, which in turn, gave him a better view of it. It didn't even look like the gun had a physical gunner. It was probably remotely controlled to some end. Or maybe controlled from the interior. The armor looked heavy though, enough so to not even try to take a shot with his Lasrifle. The optical sensors didn't look apparent either. So his current strategy would have to do. This dangerous game of red light, green light, would be copied until the end of the hallway was reached. A full minute passed, his genemods pushing him further and further into the kill zone. Finally making his way to the last piece of cover in the hallway, he peeked out to find his next place of advance.

The room the hallway led too was huge. Relative to the rest of the facility that is. He appeared to be on the second story which acted as a catwalk to the courtyard type area. On the far side of the room, what seemed like half the wall began to fall. Seeing this movement he focused in on it. That's when he saw her, she was looking back with a smile. The opportunity presented to the Warrior was quickly passing. The woman was in cover, too far away for a grenade. A hotshot las round would have to suffice, but he would only have a few seconds to execute his target.

Unloading his normal powerpack, he reached for a larger pouch on his armor. One specifically designed larger to hold the more violate 'hotshot' packs. Grabbing this pack he loaded his rifle. Whatever type of armor this Heretic leader could have, the hotshot would melt through and completely destroy.

With the shot angles in mind, he continued his scan of the room. White armor clad troopers filed out of a large glass room. Moving to most likely engage him. They would not stop his holy work. He shouldered his rifle, already raising it at the approximate angle of the retreating woman. Before he could pop out and engage, the whine of the gun sounded once again. John flinched instinctively back into cover with a new found irritation. Rounds passed by his cover harmlessly, the different pitched snap confirming his suspicion that he wasn't alone. John peered back down the hallway he came from.

The newest set of rounds indeed wasn't headed towards him, it turns out. Further down the hallway he saw 4 human looking soldiers. They all seemed to be clad in the same type of slender full-plated armor as the ones from the Infirmary. Besides for one that is. The odd one out wore the skin type scientist suit and jacket. She also wore a dark-colored full sealing helmet. Hopefully they had already identified himself as friendly, seeing as he hadn't been shot yet. Thinking critically, he could use their presence as a distraction to get closer. Acting quickly, he leveled his rifle and ran out, somewhat ducking, but sprinting he got about 10 meters as the passing rounds started following him. _Sliding_ into a stack of boxes gained him another 3 meters as he found the corner of his catwalk.

The large gears of the door were groaning as they worked. Bearton's window was closing. Distorted voices started approaching. Knowing he had no time for a firefight, John unlatched his final frag grenade. With a practiced ease, he activated the device and sailed it out towards the unseen team. His estimated toss was rewarded by the hellish screaming and sound of punctured flesh of the former Heretics. Weapon properly leveled, John canted out the right side once more. The large wall sized door was rising, and what looked like some type of transport behind it was moving away.

Its occupant stared straight into the soul of John, with a mocking smile on her face. Her sneer would turn into horror as superheated lances tore into her transport. The window that stood between them was penetrated with ease and the superheated lances drove straight into the woman. She stood no chance, the burst disintegrating large chunks of the Heretic leader's upper body and head. Her fall was concealed by the rising door.

Now certain that the local leader of the ruinous powers was dead, John put his attention back into the fight at hand. More voices approached and the ceiling weapon let off another set of rounds into the local friendlies. There distraction was very sufficient. Now with only his marksmenship and his two remaining powerpacks, he joined the fray.

The Kasrkin canted left, opening up in a prolonged automatic burst. He caught a small team in the open, trying to pass through a doorway on the far wall. They were easily swept away under the tide of crimson that seemed to illuminate the entire room in its warm, deadly glow. Letting off the trigger, John got back into cover. He replaced the power pack of his rifle and set about doing the Emperor's work. A vicious battle rhythm began. Peeking out of cover, acquiring and persecuting an enemy, moving forward into another piece of cover then peeking once again. For several minutes, the man advanced. Punishing all those that dared stand before him.

The doorway to control room was mere meters away, but he had been zeroed in on. Whoever was controlling that turret obviously decided he was the biggest threat to their safety. Rounds impacted into his cover and the area between him and the door. The flow of rounds seemed endless. As frustrated as he was, that gun didn't have an infinite amount of rounds. All he had to do was hunker down until it ran out of rounds or ended its burst. Whatever came first. As seconds dragged into minutes, the fire didn't seem to stop. He knew this turret was only biding its time. But every second spent here meant a second another, unseen foe could maneuver on him and take advantage of him. Bearton started doing math in his head in an attempt to figure out how many bullets it would take to kill him if he ran out mid burst. He wouldn't need put this equation to the test however. A loud explosion rocked and shook the room, the incoming fire ceased.

Just to be sure, Bearton peeked the top of his head out. Half the gun was disintegrated, the other half was on fire. Fine work for sure, committed by none other than the local forces as well. Impressive, although they were still committed to a firefight with the leftover Traitor forces. Not wanting to spoil their glory, he turned and used the opening that had been created. Pushing into the control room.

All that was left was a few shocked and unprepared looking technician-type soldiers with only pistols and submachine guns. Essentially cannon fodder for the battle-tested Warfighter. He put them down with a few neatly place las shots to center mass. He used his rifle to scan the rest of the room. Satisfied there was no more heretical scum lying about, John slung his rifle under his right arm and approached a line of consoles. Each console had a lit up, holographic display. It seemed like some pretty advanced tech. And there was no keyboard… or letter characters. And whatever language he could see on the display was foreign to him. A few numbers where there but it was meaningless without words connecting them. He could probably get some type of blueprints to the facility, or even troop numbers off these cogitators if he could figure it out.

The career Infantryman let out a long sigh, irritating his jaw once more. He ignored the pain and sat down, attempting to discern the technology in front of him. His mind went in circles, simple things he thought he knew about cogitators proved unreliable at best. Taking minutes out of his life already, this shit was pissing him off. Making him angry. John choose to take a small break and check his Auspex. At least he could work with this simple technology. _'Why can't people be satisfied with pen and paper? Its leagues easier to use and you can't get locked out of a fucking book' _His Auspex lit up with 4 yellow dots headed his way. '_Probably the PDF, probably..' _Not fully confident in his assumption, Bearton got up and took position behind the large center console in the room. He leveled his rifle and waited.

A small, disc like container was tossed into the room. John ducked down and prepared for a grenade to go off. Counting to three, nothing happened. He popped back up and sighted in. A hand was waved into the room from the far door as the container started 'Speaking' The voice was mechanical in nature but managed to sound somewhat feminine.

"_**Please do not shoot, friendlies coming inside." **_Pondering for a second, he stayed sighted in. Nothing happened however. '_Probably waiting for a response' _He coughed and cleared his voice. _**"ENTER"**_ Slowly and with weapons put away, the four armored figures entered. John was curious, there didn't seem to be any common equipment between the group. Two had black armor, one had blue and one was in the white lab suit with black gloves. Some had rank stripes while others didn't. And they all were completely free of combat damage, it seemed. '_Lucky.' _What seemed like the milita's leader stepped forward. She had a prominent letter character on her chest with the number 7. A red stripe came down the center of her helmet. These were all the more noticeable features. Other _finer_ details were hidden beneath the darkness of the facility.

Sound came from the female, but it was all intelligible. Instead, the mechanical speech came from the box. _**"Do you understand me?"**_ He nodded. _"We are looking for a Doctor, a woman in a jumpsuit of white and-" _John cut her off, somewhat to show dominance but mostly because he was impatient. _**"She's dead. Executed with the rest of the heretics I found." **_And with that he lowered his rifle and sat back at the computer, dead-set on figuring it out, now that eyes were on him. The team awkwardly stood around. The exchanged a few words that didn't come over the translator, John ignored these comments and tried to push the light up, holographic buttons to no avail.

The lead women again approached him, "_**Let me help you there, Chief." **_John snapped a glare at her. But, realizing his limitations, submitted to the local Team Leader. The woman looked at the screen for a moment before waving over to lab-suit. She approached and again they exchanged words before the scientist-doctor woman had her entire hand light up with orange holographic light. _**"HERESY!"**_ John took a step forwards and grabbed the woman's wrist, in the same fluid motion, he grabbed his dagger and pushed it onto her throat. _**"What, in the Emperor's name, is that." **_Not even a second later a gun barrel was pressed into his own helmet.

At this point a realization hit John. He was not in the Imperium anymore. The seemingly random dots started to connect. The lack of devotion and pious symbols, the weird architecture, the lack of basic knowledge skills, and all these fucking white walls. With the action he just committed rash? Probably. But, John knew Xenos tech when he saw it. And every Human in the galaxy was held under the Imperium's law, regardless of who they 'technically' belonged too.

"_**Corporal, let me level with you. Were on a mission, and content with working with you. But if you keep that knife to my friend's throat, I'm gonna have to shoot you." **_The disc was getting quicker in its replies it seemed. Before John replied though, he looked at the woman whose life held in his hands, knife only a simple flex away from ending it. Even though the darkness hid many finer details, he got a general understanding of the woman. She was about average size for a female, her form fitting jumpsuit and jacket were _very_ form fitting. Showing off all her curves, which were plentiful. But there was this aura surrounding her, he felt somewhat compelled to be nice and even admire this stranger. Being well versed in the treachery of the Warp, only one conclusion could be made. '_So a Psyker then.' _John knew even if he tried, this Psyker would probably rip him in half. Perhaps a more 'Gentle' approach was required to this situation.

He retracted his knife and sheathed it, he took a step backwards facing the unknown group leader. _**"Do what you need too Woman. But whatever Xenos trickery you use, I will not be present for it. Just pull whatever you need." **_He backed away and started walking out the door. _"Hey Stranger." _John paused and looked over his shoulder. _"My name is Shepherd, and do that too my clan again, and I'll end you." _Personally he scoffed at the idea of what she had told him. But it has been a long time since anyone had threatened him in such a manner. Walking away and out of the control room, Bearton pushed any thoughts outside the mission outside and decided it was time to make his way downwards to the ground floor.

Back inside the room, the lab suit wearing Woman felt her neck, she was bleeding. Applying a small dose of medgel and wiping her blue blood off on her gloves, she began her work to get the power working once again.

As John was halfway down the stairs, the overhead lights turned from the warm red glow to a bright and punishing white. His eyes had to take a second to adjust with his new surroundings. Following the wall, John re-slung his rifle the right and proper way. He shouldered it in the low ready and started scanning the fallen. One such fallen was not properly dead yet. Choking on his own blood, making groaning sounds. It was quite annoying. Bearton approached the fallen man. He currently was tired, and feeling a tad lazy. Instead of saving ammo like he knew he should, John opted for pulling the trigger on his rifle. This single shot was enough as the Heretic's head was disintegrated.

Bearton was unsure as of what to do next, he could continue with this PDF force and purge the remaining heretics. But he really should go and check in on that White Shield boy and the female Guardsmen. This place was strange, and even if they are fresh conscripts, he could use steadfast allies.

"_**Hey Soldier boy, what are you going to do now?" **_John turned around and saw that one of the other troopers in that Shepherd's retinue was addressing him with the translator disc in hand. He was a large one, almost the same size as the Kasrkin. Dressed in a full sealing armor set with helmet, colored onyx black. Somewhat intimidating if he couldn't of seen his eyes. But the depolarized visor exposed his eyes and gave away his emotions. Eyes were the window to the soul after all. _**"What type of question is that to ask of me?" **_Somewhat taken aback, the trooper replied "_A pretty valid one since you people have declined evacuation." _Now it was John's turn to be taken aback. "_Evacuation? From what? And who the fuck denied it?"_ Before the large local trooper could answer. The militia leader, Shepherd, cut him off. Quick to explain her subordinate. _**"Mars will soon be enveloped by the Reapers. A large detachment from Earth is already on its way here. And your youngest trooper denied evacuation for some reason. His loss though." **_She shrugged. _'Did she just say Mars, as in were on Mars... and that an Invasion fleet is on its way from Holy Terra?! Is Terra under siege?' _To many questions, not enough answers. Panic started encompassing John. He physically took a step backwards to try and steady himself. He gripped his rifle as if his life depended on it. _'Focus John, fucking focus. One mission at a time, block everything else out. One mission. Survival, we need to leave.'_ Evacuation. John needed to survive. Verifying it for himself, to fight for the Emperor later, he needed to live here and now.

"_**Are you alright? News hitting you hard that Earth is burning? I understand, however James' question still remains. We can't have outsiders running around with our mission still in progress."**_ He didn't need that reminder spoken out loud. _"Who is running the evacuation? We have changed our minds." _Shepherd took a few steps forward, as if looking up John. _"My ship is. But why would I accept you now?" _This PDF motherfucker had some gull. Playing hardball with Cadia's elite like this. But Bearton wasn't exactly in a spot to make any demands, as she had kindly pointed out that it was '_Her' _ship. He decided he would play along, for now. Carefully he picked his words, not trying to sound too desperate or insidious. _"I'm a Kasrkin… Cadia's most elite fighting force outside the Honored Astates. The other's are fighters too. Experienced in the ways of war against the Arch Enemy. And we have our own rations and gear. No need to supply us, we just need transportation." _That may have sounded a bit more desperate then he liked, but he was only echoing his mind. Just another step in the cycle to survive.

"_**What's your name then, Kasrkin." **_The way she said Kasrkin irritated John but it seemed like he was making progress, so he ignored it. _"Corporal Bearton. 59__th__ Cadian Kasrkins under the 8__th__ Cadian Army Corps."_ Shepherd paused, she seemed curious for the most part. _**"Welcome aboard. Gather your men and go to loading bay 3. It's down the hallway from the infirmary." **_Retaining this information and quietly repeating it to himself, John nodded his thanks to Shepard and climbed the stairs he so recently came down. He shouldered his rifle and stepped off in a jog. Currently this was all his body could put out at a sustainable pace due to only thing currently keeping him standing was large amounts of combat stims.

Bearton was recounting his steps, taking the turns he made chasing that Heretic. It felt like 20 minutes had passed since he left Shepherds presence, but he finally started seeing the red infirmary symbols yet again. His motivation was renewed, and as he got closer he started finding the lasting evidence of his earlier crusade outside the medical bay. But something was off, there was more recent bodies here as well. The barricade was also hastily erected once again. Somewhat concerned for the other Imperials, he stopped right outside and began to speak. _**"Are you still alive White Shield?"**_ Some shuffling was heard around inside, and the crash of a likely tipped over table. _"Uhh Yes Corporal! Alive and surviving!" _Satisfied with the response, he started forcibly pushing the boxes in the corner of the barricade aside _"Let me help you sir!"_ The White Shield defiantly acted like a White Shield. Annoying, overbearing, all too eager to die for the cause.

John had not seen the White Shield, fully, before he left. He had not seen the damage, brought to his face by the Arch Enemy. It was not pleasant to look at. Most of the boy's face was charred black and a deep red of the muscular tissue. Not even any dressings to cover it. His skin leaked a yellow puss and was completely swollen and puffed up. His right eye was closed shut entirely, only his left eye remained somewhat undamaged with a small opening indicating that he wasn't entirely blind. Although this looked bad, Bearton had seen much worse in his lifetime of war. The young White Shield was lucky to be alive, if he was honest with himself. _**"Where is the Medicae, Trooper." **_Without even giving the satisfaction from being told, the Kasrkin turned and witnessed a sight he had seen countless times beforehand.

The recently revived Medicae was sitting on her knees in the corner of the infirmary crying. Looked like it was over the body of a dead Guardsmen. The Veteran Warrior groaned internally, this wasn't his job, but as it appeared, there was no surviving priests around. _**"Status, boy."**_ The White Shield looked more panicked now than he did during combat as John remembered. _"Uh, I'm ok sir, were out of bandages, but im swimming in stims. I can still fight, the traitors have been coming in a steady stream but I can hold the line."_ John pushed forward, he let the young, half blind trooper rebuild the barricade by himself. _**"Status report, Medicae." **_She sobbed belligerently, enough so were she was almost a distraction to him. But John knew he needed to get this young trooper's mind back in the fight, instead of on her dead friend.

He didn't even want to hear the reply. _"Green, sir. I'm sorry, but he was my Father." _She still cried over a corpse. John tried to put himself in her place, a young soldier who fought and died in the same unit as her father. Forced to watch as he sacrificed himself in service to the Emperor and to protect her from the hands of the filthy Orks. But the Kasrkin wasn't trained in empathy, and thus none came from him.

This didn't sit right with him. Why did she care so much? She was Cadian after all, death was apart of her life since birth, she should just move on, as he had so many years ago. _**"Death in service to the Emperor is its own reward. Life in failure to Him is its own condemnation. Now on your feet Trooper." **_The young Medicae stifled up a few more sobs, tears drying up on her cheeks. A mission was at hand that needed her participation. _"Sir, I am out of bandages and powerpacks are running low. Besides that I am green and mission ready." _John took the information in, this was acceptable he thought. His rag-tag team only needed to make it to the hanger bay next door after all.

Bearton had to help the White Shield prepare himself. He even pressed a new powerpack into the boy's hands to load. Other than that, the preparation period had been productive for the Kasrkin. He managed to find a Kasrkin HotShot rifle, along with a new-looking hellpistol that probably belonged to his former team-mate. John pushed his name to the depths of his mind, he couldn't bear to have those thoughts re-surface at a time like this. He began filling his pouches with a few frag grenades and even two Krak grenades as well. High explosives was the Emperor's weapon of choice after all.

The line of bodies was long, the honored dead will be remembered and prayed for later. But it was time to get off this rock. _**"Cadians stand firm. We are the Hammer of the Imperium, and we march for battle once again." **_John still had the massive revelations in the back of his mind, trying to force their way to the forefront. But this new information would not be given to the others, they were too weak for that currently. His voice while low, bellowed outwards in Low Gothic. _**"We will be evacuating with the local PDF forces, they are different, but loyal citizens never less." **_That last part was somewhat of a lie. But he had to inspire confidence, and words didn't come easy for the man, even in a normal conversation.

Both Guardsmen stood. Their duty to fight ever onwards and die for the Emperor if need be. The Medicae grabbed the identification tag chain from her Father's limp neck and slung her rifle. Her face looked grim and tired, something of a mix between a deep sadness and great determination to purge heretics. The White Shield was much harder to read due to the ever present face burns. But physically, he stood ram-rod straight. With the discipline of a full-fledged shock trooper.

John himself was tried, with another set of stims applied, he couldn't feel anything except his hatred towards the Heretics, the caution of the Psykers, and the disgust of Xenos. And with a hard front kick to the barrier and a renewed motivation for survival, the team stepped off. As the most fit and skilled of the trio, the Kasrkin took point. Followed by the half blind White Shield and finally the Medicae following up and watching the rear. Armed with their faith and Lasguns they pushed forwards.

The hallway was littered with bodies of both Cerberus and a few PDF security forces. The 'Ra-tat-tat' of the local's guns could be heard further down the way. It sounded like they needed some help against the Heretics.

Eager for the mental break of combat, the Kasrkin glided quickly. Weapon trained at chest height. The doorway was closed with a holographic red colored circle. It looked like a lock, but that wouldn't stop them. With a practiced motion, the 'Breacher up' signal was given. The White Shield took the queue and retrieved his only krak grenade from a pouch. He placed this on the floor pressed up the door. He looked back once to make sure the team was ready, then activated the device on extended delay mode. Quickly retreating to his place in the middle of the stack, about 15 meters away and hunched down to brace themselves.

10 tense seconds passed in silence from there part. The muffled gunfire only setting the mood further. The White Shield counted out loud, first there was nervousness in his voice, but he steadied himself. _**"5…4…3…2…1…" **_BOOOM

The explosion rocked the room, the overpressure hit them like a starship in such confined corridors. Some fragmentation bounced off the front Kasrkin but he tactically placed his plates in a trained manner to avoid taking metal to his exposed parts. As he had done hundreds of times beforehand, the lead Veteran rose, shouldering his rifle and gliding past the crater of a doorway. The smoke was prominent but his Auspex already gave him a rough idea of the room.

The former doorway was center-fed into the room. On the left far side was the open hanger, with a distorted view of the crimson Martian surface and what looked like two metal vehicles parked. One was completely buttoned up while the second had a horizontal opening doorway open. The local PDF forces from earlier seemed to be reinforced with more of their own, desperately returning fire behind a variety of barricades, attempting to perform a fighting retreat. Some wounded lie up against the barricades but only about a squad was fighting back.

The right side of the bay was a much different story, starting at their breech. Only a few Heretical soldiers could be seen returning fire, as many other lay dead or unseen behind good cover. The closest enemy team was already starting to react to the explosion. Initially they were shocked, as hot metal and parts of human gore flew at them. Some were even knocked over as a result of the shockwave. But with all the training and implants they responded almost mechanically. As expected however.

Hotshot las fire burned through the smoke, finding purchase in a pair of exposed troopers. They were felled instantly with fist sized holes in their armor and chest. The Imperial trio started to spread out, gaining advantageous angles on the now flanked Heretics. Much of the enemy's lines were based off of a line of loaders, pushed into position to provide good cover. This line was completely in view as well as the squad sized force of the white clads. This close range battle was fought exclusively with automatic fire. The range was suitable and the enemy was numerous, that and only 3 of the Emperor's instruments stood in defiance. They fought like the Iron Men reborn.

Only this meager traitor force stood between them and evacuation. The Kasrkin's battle rhythm was intense, he felt the flow of battle around him. Correctly assessing when to fire, when to move and when to stay down time and time again. The heretics dared to stand firm however. A large door at the end of the enemy's position opened up. Slowly a 3 meter tall walking war machine marched through, each step reverberating through the floor. It was as large as a Terminator Astartes warrior, but covered completely in white except for the 'Head'. The 'head' consisted of a control pit covered by a large orange type of glass. Maybe a vulnerability if exploited correctly. A large cannon had occupied its right arm as well. The familiar whine of a weapon spin up was heard while more cannon fodder ran out with the machine. Rounds exploded out from the cannon at supersonic speeds.

John was already naturally in cover, as the emergence of a new and powerful foe implied. Rounds impacted close by however, slamming into the metal floor and barricades around him. The White Shield and the Medicae were paired up in cover, returning fire as best they could. The tide was changing, more heretics flooded inwards while the remaining militia men retreated backwards, leaving the Imperials in a precarious situation. Bearton retrieved a frag grenade, while using his Auspex as a range finder and loosed it on his foes. The explosion and cries of pain and death rewarding him. John looked around behind him for his position and sensed a feeling of dread creep in. LasRifle fire had ceased from his two companions as they had hunkered down. The steps of the closing war machine were matched as fierce rounds scrapped metal shavings off the floor as his cover was disappearing.

The incoming fire momentarily ceased, as it seemed that the Walker's guns had overheated. John exploited this lapse in fire, jumping up and sprinting backwards. He got to a piece of cover somewhat online with the two Guardsmen. They had begun firing again at the growing tide of white armor. _**"WHITE SHIELD, MEDICAE, GIVE ME SUPPRESSING FIRE WHILE I TARGET THE WALKER!"**_ Each trooper complied instantly, firing long interrupted lasrifle lances into the enemy. Bearton stood, leveling his hellgun and using the cover to steady himself. A 9 round burst hit the walker. It seemed that some shots stopped early, impacting on some type of portable void shield. The others slammed into the cockpit, fracturing and cracking the glass. None of the lances hit the pilot, as the walker marched ever forward winding up his autocannon to release more bullets.

A large caliber rifle round was heard, its physical impact, observed in the form of the pilots head exploding into a gory mess over the inside of the cockpit. With higher brain functions ceasing, the traitor Pilot's body stuttered over the controls, pushing the walker into a pile of crates which it dramatically fell into. With that large threat gone, the gap left in the defense had to be exploited. The Kasrkin leveled himself and poured the overcharged lances of orange fire into the advancing traitors. But it couldn't go well forever. A foreign grenade came incoming, its destination, was the cover of the two young Guardsmen. It landed true and at the feet of the wide-eyed Medicae. Time slowed, John sought his own cover from the blast as he witnessed something unusual.

The Medicae was lifted off her feet, and thrown backwards, towards the Kasrkin. The White Shield had used some of his last physical strength performing this. And With one final effort he dove atop the grenade and screamed, _**"FOR THE EMPEROR!" **_The explosion virtually disintegrated the White Shield

The battle was not over yet, but something had to be done. The two remaining Imperials were vastly outnumbered and slowly being outmaneuvered. The Kasrkin was covered in blood, gashes from rifle rounds were numerous and growing in his armor. Only two powerpacks remained fresh as he had just replaced his own. The Medicae was fully in mental code-black. Her eyes wide in horror and disbelief at what had just happened and firmly seated behind his crate. To top it off, the pair was now both behind a single piece of cover, neatly concentrating all the enemy's fire in an easy manner. But the Emperor must have been watching over the two. Smoke grenades had been popped just in front of their position. John looked towards the source as he saw Shepherds team had arrived, and begun engaging the Heretics. She used her suit's voice projectors and started instructing the pair. _**"GET UP AND FALL BACK TO THE SHUTTLES! LAST CHANCE BEARTON!"**_ Not the type to look a gift horse in the mouth. Bearton quickly grabbed up the Medicae by the shoulder straps of her flak and began running.

An easy 20 meters, or it should have been. Rounds impacted in all direction, John felt and heard the pings of rounds bouncing off his carapace. He had placed the girl in front of him. Almost tripping himself, but propelling her forwards while somewhat providing cover.

10 meters left. The Milita fighters were all inside the shuttle, only Shepherds team and the Imperial duo were left outside. The first shuttle rose and began moving out of the hanger. The second open shuttle was half open, providing decent cover to its occupants.

5 meters, they passed through the final crate-cover that had been erected. Sparing a glance behind him yielding observing a great blue barrier being cast up. Blocking the incoming fire from the traitors. A neat and new little Pysker trick for sure.

Bearton pretty much threw the Medicae onto the shuttle, he himself ran into the far wall and collapsed to the floor. The shuttle was extremely cramped now as the final soldier from the militia team boarded. Immediately the shuttle door closed, cutting off the remaining light inside. Blood red tactical lights dimly lit the inside. John could barely feel the shuttle rise and takeoff outside the hanger, and presumably into atmosphere.

He was breathing hard, beads of sweat and new pools of blood soaked his bandages. John's stims were failing him. He attempted to stand but found he just didn't have the strength too. He could see Shepherd make her way towards him. She pushed passed a few others that gave her respectable space on such a small shuttle. She squatted down infront of the Kasrkin, not saying anything for a moment, just observing. He looked up, meeting her gaze from beneath his helmet. _**"I believe you owe me an explanation, Corporal." **_John thought long and hard, not replying for perhaps a full minute. The shuttle was all quiet, save the rattles and shake of the shuttle passing into space. All eyes were on him. He could hear the quiet sobbing from the Medicae as he formulated what to say. _**"Survivors." **_

….

_**Look at the author notes of Chapter 1. It got updated nerds. **_

_**This guy thinks he's Captain Knots**_, _**thinks he's Captain tying knots when people need knots tied they go to him. BULLSHIT. Fucking garbage, NO WAY. Drinkin' outta cups and shit.**_

_**I rewrote this chapter about 3 times because writing is hard. Fuck you (Love you)**_


	5. There are no Miracles There are only Men

**There are no miracles. There are only men.**

Why was life so brutal and grim? What sins had been committed to bring such pain and agony to those around her. Everything was lost. Not only was her home gone, but everyone she had known. Even the young boy that once stood tall like a glimmering hope of good things to come. But he was gone, another name to add to this list of those that had died protecting her. _'Oh Throne, Father…' _Instinctively, she reached into her pocket, and retrieved her Father's identification chain. It was hard to see in the darkness, only the blood red lights could illuminate the chain. Aquila Flavia took off the glove off her right hand and put it into her lap.

Two symbols were prominent on the silver chain necklace. One the standard of Cadian Guardsmen, the jawless skull of humanity. But instead of a plain white skull, the name of her father and his identification number, and blood type covered the front and back. _'Marcus Flavia' _The skull seemed to stare back at Aquila, forever judging her cowardly actions of the past. The second symbol was the Imperial Aquila itself. The physical representation of the whole of Humanity and even Emperor himself. She could only utter a few small prayers to the one and only God of Humanity. Further hoping that he would guide her onto the right path.

Aquila was all but consumed with her thoughts, she set the chain in her lap and thumbed it over and over again. Trying to preserve and recall the memory of her Mother and Father through this simple piece of metal. She sat backwards up against the wall of the shuttle, and began softly reciting a song that she remembered her Mother singing to her, at bedtime every night before the war.

"_Little girl, little girl, don't lie to me. Tell me where, did you sleep last night?"_

"_In the pines, in the pines. Where the sun don't ever shine"_

"_I would shiver the whole night through"_

As mentally internal as Aquila was, the world around her still moved. Faint sounds of shuffling were heard, someone started shouting. It didn't matter to her, she was all too consumed with thought.

"Little _girl, little girl, where will you go? I'm going where the cold wind blows"_

Some bodies got shoved into her sitting form, almost tripping over here. It didn't bother Aquila much.

"_In the pines, in the pines, where the sun don't ever shine"_

A single tear ran down her cheek, from her deep violet eyes. It was all that was left after such a long day of grief and exhaustion.

"_I would shiver the whole night through"_

The crack of a gunshot exploded in the shuttlecraft compartment. Snapping out of her daze, she stood. Her eyes were wide at the violence unfolding in front of her yet again. A rifle stock met her forehead. Her Father's chain dropped from her hand, desperately she reached out for it. She was on the floor, slumped and truly dazed.

She began hearing a voice. It sounded so familiar, but what was it? It was her Mother's song, in her voice too! Her Mother's singing was angelic. Nothing felt real, more like a lucid dream. Aquila's vision was blurred. She needed the chain, the comfort of her Father's memory. Crawling inches, she saw it among an army of armored boots. With all the strength and desperation she could muster, she reached out.

A different hand grabbed it first. Her vision followed the hand upwards. Eyes wide and full of terror, the hand belonged to a blue-skinned alien pretending to be a human. A large cut covered the vertical length of her forehead, bleeding some inhuman blue blood. Aquila was not going to submit to the creature, but in her damaged state she wasn't above begging.

"_**Please, don't take it from me!"**_ The Xenos looked curiously at her necklace, and met the eyes of the Guardsmen.

Aquila's head snapped downwards and hit the floor in a violent fashion. She was out cold.

Around the knocked out Guardsmen, the shuttle was docking with its ship. The ship was in general quarters. All hands to their posts, everything stowed away or tied down. Engines pushed to their limits as all due haste was made for the Mass Relay. The ancient enemy was tightening its grip around the system, and they had to escape while they could. The stealth frigate shot the gap. Activated by the relay, the engines launching it across the galaxy.


	6. Tatical Questioning

**Tactical Questioning**

He wiped the condensation off the mirror. Bad etiquette for sure, but it had been a long day. Besides, his post-mission ritual must be completed regardless of time constraints. Chris looked at himself, admiring the new black eye that had been given to him during the transport off-planet. He was getting old. Maybe not biologically, but physically and mentally.

Only 26 years old and Chris could swear he had some gray hairs growing in. But that was all expected, being a career Marine put a certain toll on one's body. _'All this experience and I'm still devilishly handsome.' _Chris could be considered attractive. To most he was about average, citing a low jaw and a crooked nose from years of bar fights.

He turned the water faucet on hot. Mist began filling the room as the water recyclers worked overtime. Spreading shaving cream on his face and head, he pulled his straight edge razor from its case. The Veteran Raider was somewhat of an old soul, he preferred the simple technologies. Ones that didn't need computers, batteries or an extranet connection to just shave his face. Slowly, he began cutting the tiny hairs that have grown in over the day, front to back. The memories of what had happened flowing freely, as his time-honed shaving motions took over.

The Unknowns found on Mars had been completely that, unknown. What little information he gathered had been completely useless without a foundation.

Sure he could have a hypothesis, sure. Maybe some type of tank bred soldiers? From what he had seen, they had no common standard language, no formal education of the galaxy, and the only thing these people seemed to know was how to fight. Or so it seemed. They were also surprising xenophobic. That last part was found out the hard way. Liara's face got cut up pretty badly in a tussle with that big guy.

But their weapons, holy fuck their weapons. They had fricken laserbeams and shit. It cut through shields and the most advanced armor like a hot knife through butter. And to top it off, the explosives used as grenades could shred through reinforced airlock doors.

Out of the 9 years of combat the SSGT had seen, nothing could compare, not the richest private mercenary in the Terminus had such tech. The perplexing thing was that in the form of defensive measures, they had next to nothing but some heavy ass metal-alloy plates strapped to themselves.

No shields, no tech armor, nothing. Sure those plates were effective. It seemed to shrug off all but the heaviest of caliber mass accelerator rounds, but it left large swaths of exposed skin. Especially for those two younger kids, they only had chest and shoulder pieces.

How could anyone have laser weapons but not any type of personal shield or deflector? It just didn't make any sense.

A small beep tone sounded over the bathroom speakers. Chris put down his razor and turned the faucet off, waiting for the message. EDI began speaking "_**Staff Sergeant Lance, Lieutenant Commander Shepard is asking for a mission debriefing in 15 minutes at the War Room." **_He was almost done shaving anyway, so it sorta worked out nicely. With a sigh he replied _"Roger EDI, tell her I'll be there." _The end conversation tone sounded. Chris wasn't exactly a fan of EDI. He still didn't trust the near omnipotent machine but it didn't matter. Currently he was just glad the interactions between the two have been short. He finished cleaning up himself, wiping any remaining shaving cream off his head with his towel before wrapping it around his waist. It's been said that a hot shower, fresh shave and a clean uniform can make a man feel new again.

Lance walked out of the men's head with nothing but his towel and shower shoes on. He didn't really care if regulations said he had to have a shirt on to be 'Decent'. Fuck that, the Systems Alliance Marines have been multi-gendered since its founding. They can get over themselves if they felt offended. He returned to his room rather quickly though, mainly due to distance as his quarters were fortunately close to the bathroom.

Entering his room, he was greeted by a glare from Lieutenant Cardinal. _**"Chris put on a fucking shirt on for God's sake. No one wants to see that beer belly." **_Getting a kick out of the comment, Chris was quick to chirp back. "_It's called a 'power belly' sir, and the ladies love it." _Lance was lucky enough to only have a single roommate, in the form of his Platoon Commander. The small ship size dictated the small room size and less then comfortable living place for the majority of the crew. He was a Staff NCO though and therefore he got privileges to the better rooms, with a small desk and computer, both being bolted into the wall.

"_Did EDI tell you about the debrief yet?" _The LT was already head deep into his omni once again. _"Yeahhhh, you're welcome for finishing the reports by the way." _If there's one thing in this universe he hated more than the Reapers, it was paperwork. Luckily, his LT was fast and actually enjoyed that aspect of the Military bureaucracy. The majority of the time, he just signed whatever reports Cardinal handed him. Some especially drunken nights, Chris even just laid in his rack, verbally explaining his mission as his LT typed away. _"You're the best Lieutenant a Marine could ask for." _They both shared a small chuckle as the SSGT put his garrison uniform on.

With 5 minutes of idle small talk and uniform changes over, the pair left the room, reports updated and ready for presentation. Walking down the hallway, they made their way to the elevator and stepped inside. Not many people roamed around the ship. Most just stuck to their beds and small social cliques.

After arriving on the command deck, the pair stepped out, surveying the area. The Ship's XO was currently overseeing the shift changeover into the night cycle. The tired expressions from both the recently awaken and the recently dismissed headed in opposite directions.

Turning into the command hallway, they proceeded into the war room. Shepard stood ominously with her arms crossed, still armored up from the neck down at the back of the room. She seemed mentally enveloped by the different holographic displays feeding new pictures of a besieged Earth. That set the mood effectively as grim. _"Ma'am" _They both locked their bodies at attention.

The Commander returned their greeting. _**"At ease, gents. Gather 'round and kick the debrief." **_Since the SSGT was the maneuver element for the mission, he began first, generally explaining the order of movement from ship to infirmary and everything in-between. Then he mentioned meeting the first of the Unknowns. That seemed to peak her interest.

"_What do you have on these guys, I need every possible detail you can give." _Chris thought hard, formulating what little knowledge he had into a decent response.

"_Well uh, not much is known. The recently deceased Doctor Kirk said that somehow a purple vortex opened up, and dropped a squad-sized pile of bodies. Most dead except for a younger looking boy and an unconscious female all dressed up in the foreign armor and insignias."_

"_We took numerous videos and pictures of the dead bodies and equipment, but most of it was extremely damaged." _Chris activated his omni tool and pulled up the mentioned videos on the holoscreen. He then continued.

"_So far, we have a few similarities identified. A common symbol, some double headed bird was displayed prominently on just about every piece of gear. Also, most of the bodies were military aged males ranging from 16 to 20 years old. Rank chevrons could be identified as well, pointing towards a military type unit. What looks like unit identifiers where painted onto each piece of shoulder armor, the most common being a large '8'. Other numbers were mixed in with the small group, citing the female with a '17' and the boy with a '01'. Again it's all very confusing." _

Shepard seemingly took the information in like a sponge before speaking. "_Alright, well we know two things for sure. They hate Cerberus, and they hate aliens. So perhaps, and hear me out, they could be an escaped Cerberus project of super soldiers…. Or some shit."_

Lt Cardinal put his hand to his chin and spoke up for the first time. "_That would connect a lot of dots quite nicely. All the xenophobia, advanced weapons and the all human aspect. But what about the language? Even the translators had to adapt to that form of Latin."_

EDI toned into the conversation. "_The language was not Latin, but a highly distorted version of that dialect with mixed in English diction." _Chris answered the AI with a noticeable anger in his tone. _"Thank you EDI." _

The room was silent for a few moments. The presented information somewhat hanging in the air like a thick smog. What were they supposed to do with all this information? _"Ma'am, what should we do with our two 'Guests'. This ship isn't designed to hold prisoners, but we could drop them off with C-Sec when we get there."_

"_SSGT Lance?" _

"_Ma'am?" _

"_Find me a security detail. We're going to go talk to them, starting with that girl." _Flabbergasted, Chris stuttered, he had lots of questions.

"_Uhh do you want me to kit up?" _

"_No, just the security needs kit. Meet me outside starboard observation in 30 minutes." _The Commander proceeded to walk straight out the door, leaving both men with their mouths agape.

"_Did that just fucking happen?" _Even the LT was confused it seemed.

"_Yes sir, I believe it did. But why not go confront the highly militarized and violent super soldiers who just tried to kill us an hour ago, fuck it." _

"_That sounded very sarcastic for the man whose actually doing it. Don't worry, I'll start your causality report while you're gone." _Pausing for a moment as he processed the order, Chris finally resigned himself.

"_She didn't even finish the de-brief…." _He walked out of the room, sighing both internally and externally.

The night shift had started but minutes ago. Announced by the dimming of hallway lights in all areas except those of work. But there he walked, a member of the day squad, about to interrogate a foreign and Unknown Soldier that didn't speak any known common language. _'Fuck me…' _

He wasn't planning on dying today however. , which is why he grabbed two of his best guys armed with M-23 Katanas. He hoped the weapons along with the onyx black N-type armor and polarized helmets would at least intimidate the women into not fighting. Just in case, Chris brought his personal shield belt with the generator that was placed on his lower back. But that's all he had, a shield and his good looks.

His two Petty Officers snapped to attention as Lieutenant Commander Jane Shepard rounded the corner. Chris had always admired and unprofessional lusted over her, but why shouldn't he? She was gorgeous.

Dark red hair, a strong athletic body with high cheek bones that made for a beautiful and smooth face. The only thing that threw him for a loop was her red eyes. Genetically customized to be the type of red you'd see in pool of blood to both intimidate and set her apart even more than normal.

But her eyes matched her warfighting reputation perfectly. Previous command reports all mentioned her lack of morality, and a violent and aggressive nature. She was ruthless towards her enemies. Some would say a perfect military leader.

Politicians had said she was a massive liability in the form of a blunt instrument. It wasn't his place to judge though. He was a grunt after all, a cog in the grand machine that cared only for victory. Who cared if a few throats were slit here and there?

Lance snapped to attention, he greeted the commander professionally. Her garrison uniform was much better than his, he noticed. Same uniform but hers fit better and lacked any color fade or patches. She even sported the N7 Beret compared to his Marine Raiders ballcap.

"_Ma'am, you look well cleaned up." _Chris tried to say that as impassively and emotionless as he could, but it seemed the Commander was already irritated.

"_Right, well let's get on with it, shall we?" _The SSGT motioned for the two Petty Officers to form up in front of him and Shepherd, they would be the first through.

"_**EDI, unlock starboard observation." **_The affirmative tone pinged from the PA speakers and the door lock turned green.

The group proceeded forwards, crossing the threshold into untamed territory. The security stepped off to their respective sides giving the pair a clear view of the room, weapons lowered in an effort not to show immediate hostility.

The unknown warrior was kneeling in front of the window that exposed the black void of space. Her back was turned and helmet was to her side as she didn't seem to notice the group enter. The golden locks of hair flowed down to her mid-back. It would have been beautiful but the gold was polluted with dirt, oil stains and the crimson of blood. Chris slowly approached, trying not to spoke the Soldier. When he was about 5 meters away, he dropped the specially designed translator on the floor.

The girl seemed to be praying. The prayer was actually fully translatable even on his personal earpiece. _**"Love the Emperor, for He is the salvation of mankind. Obey His words, for He will lead you into the light of the future. Heed His wisdom, for He will protect you from evil. Whisper His prayers with devotion, for they will…" **_

Shepherd interrupted and came besides Lance "_Ahem, Miss Unknown." _

"_**..save your soul." **_The girl turned her head, assessing the newcomers. Carefully eyeing the newcomers, she stood and faced them. _"Ave Imperator?"_

It sounded more of a question then a statement. The SSGT took the lead in the conversation, he was much more tactful then the Commander could be.

"_Um, hello yourself." _The unknown Trooper squinted her eyes, as if trying to see through the pair. She began speaking in her original dialect, the one that wasn't fully translated yet.

"_Who do you represent?" _

"_My name is Staff Sergeant Christopher Lance, Systems Alliance Marines. Who might you be?" _Chris stuck out his hand for a handshake, but it went unreturned as the woman just stared at it. _"Alright then, not the talkative type then? We need something, were trying to help-" _

"_**You're not from the Imperial Guard, nor are you from the inquisition is looks like."**_ Chris usually wasn't cut off by barely legal-aged women, some frustration was already taking its spot.

"_Look, I don't know who you are or what the 'Imperial Guard' is. I have no information about you. SO, please a name would be a nice start." _An angry expression took the Girl's face, obviously she didn't appreciate the authoritative tone in Chris's voice.

"_Corporal Flavia, Cadian 17__th__ Interior Guard." _She seemed to comply, but that Interior Guard aspect might be a problem. '_Interior Guard is usually codeword for secret police. But she doesn't seem dressed for the occasion if that was true.' _

"_What's this Cadia we've heard so much about, is it a colony of some sorts?" _

Flavia looked somewhat taken back, momentarily confused by what seemed a simple question. _"The fortress world Cadia? You haven't heard of it? The only stronghold between the Imperium and the Arch Enemy's Eye of Terror?" _

"_Listen, I don't know where you think you are, but it's not there. You're currently aboard the SSV Normandy under Lieutenant Commander Jane Shepherd in the Serpent Nebula." _The woman was quite for a moment, suddenly finding the floor very interesting.

"_**I want my chain back. That Xenos women had it, and I want it back."**_Immediately, Chris turned around and pointed at one of the petty officers. He subsequently complied.

"_It's enroute, but can I get you anything else? A hot shower, food? How about a cot? I'm sure it's been a long day." _

The girl took stock of herself. It was easy to see just how exhausted she was. He pale complexion was dotted with black grease marks and the dark bags under her tired eyes. She must have been in continuous combat for days, either that or fought in a dumpster, because she sure smelled like it.

"_I would like to clean up… it has been a long day, and I need to rest before you continue this interrogation." _

The contempt in the voice was clear, elaborating with her use of the word 'interrogation' she did not trust anyone in present company. Chris was somewhat hurt, he wasn't trying to give off the aura of an interrogation. _'Interrogation? I'm not trying to interrogate the poor girl, just trying to get some basic information.'_

"_Hey we are not trying to interrogate you, nothing classified or secret. We just have next to no information on you and your friend, since you two were the only survivors." _That comment hit a nerve apparently, the girls eyes got wide, her stature changed, as if a great revelation was made. Flavia took a step backwards, trying to steady herself on the window.

"_You... you didn't know did you. For what it's worth, I'm sorry. If you tell us who did this to you and your people we can find and punish those responsible-"_

"_**YOU KNOW NOTHING! THE BLANKET OF SAFETY AND IGNORANCE YOU HAVE OVER YOUR EYES SHOULDN'T EVEN EXSIST!" **_

She seemed very adamant about this statement. With all the determination she had in her eyes and voice, Chris started feeling like he was the one out of place for a second.

An awkward pause consumed the room, as the girl was now sitting against the window to the void. Her arms wrapped around her legs as she felt very vulnerable without her weapons.

The pause was interrupted by an out of breath Petty Officer running through the door. Carried in his hand was a metal chain with two symbols on it. The Petty Officer initially gave it too Chris. He took the chain in his hand and inspected it. Two symbols were on the chain, a jawless skull with some script and that all too common double headed eagle. Chris took a mental picture, while over his shoulder, Shepard was taking an actual picture with her Omni tool. After a few additional seconds, he balled his hand into a fist, firmly grasping the chain.

Looking over to the girl, he met her steely gaze. He currently felt quite uncomfortable. Taking a few slow steps he closed the distance to the girl. When he got only an arm's reach away, he extended his hand. The Girl looked at his hand, likely trying to assess him for a trick. She extended her hand as well, open palm up, eager to receive her possession.

She took the chain quickly, snapping her hand to her chest to inspect the object. Faliva looked fully engaged with her current task. Shepard picked this moment to speak to Chris.

"_Were not going to get anything more off her right now. Let's just give her some time to rest."_

Begrudging, Chris had to agree with the Commander. The Young trooper in front of him was at mental capacity. She needed to reset her mind before they could get anything useful out of her. He gave a verbal agreement to Shepard before giving one last look at the Girl that was imprisoned on the ship.

"_**We have people coming down shortly to give you what you need in supplies. A cot, med-gel and food. Just please don't try to fight them." **_

She didn't respond, but he assumed that she would be mostly compliant. Chris offered one more apology to the girl then turned around. The Alliance group retreated outside the room, leaving the Trooper to her thoughts.

Chris did an overly dramatic check on himself using his hands. "Well! That went better than I expected, no one got stabbed this time. Of course the big guy wasn't in there but it's-"

"_**Shut up." **_

This was the third time today that Lance had been interrupted, kind of irritated he looked at the Commander. Her 'resting bitch face' was more giving a more thoughtful expression then normal.

"_**Chris, who the fuck are these people. They're a bunch of pyscho kid Soldiers." **_

"_Ma'am, I couldn't even make something up. It's quite the conundrum."_

Shepard let out a sigh of reservation, then started walking away towards the elevator.

"_**Have a good night Staff Sergeant." **_

Lance stepped off towards the opposite observation deck, he needed something to clear his head before he did his rounds to the infirmary. There were many wounded during the last mission. It was only through sheer luck that only one man died.

Cerberus must really have wanted that tech. It seemed like there was a whole ass Infantry Company of infantry along with those mechs. Personally, he hated mechs. They were only useful in extremely specific situations. But they defiantly were effective under those circumstances.

Stepping through the threshold of the portside observation deck, Chris found it empty. Out of all the creature comforts of being on a private sector-built ship had. The best, in his extremely humble opinion, was a bar. Being kept fully stocked through the private funds of the crew.

Lance himself, was a large donor. But that was more due to his excessive consumption than out of the goodness of his heart. Alcohol was one of his many vices, and as a responsible Staff Sergeant, he also partook whenever he deemed fit. Which was more often than not.

Approaching the bar, he saw nothing already out. He walked around the counter and into the refrigerator, grabbing two bottles of the galaxy's finest beers, 'YoungLongs'. With both chilled bottles in hand, he made his way to the infirmary. Every single bed was occupied and covered with privacy curtains.

Dr. Chakwas was tending to a patient further down the bay as he approached. The patient turned out to be Cpl Cold. Chris almost forgot that he took a grazing round to the shoulder.

"_**Hey Sarn't! That beer for me?" **_

"_Unfortunately not there Cold, don't want to fuck with the good Doctors medicine."_

Doctor Chakwas gave an approving nod his way, choosing to maintain her silence.

"_Hey I'll let the Doctor finish, but come find me when your released. We need to get a beer together, Cold."_

"_Ooh of course, and comeon Sarn't. Off work it's just Mickey alright! See you round'. " _His accent was strong tonight. _'Must be the meds'_

The Med-bay was small, but Chris was still impatient and with his inside voice being non-existent, he decided calling out to his friend would be his best option.

"_**Hey Liara! Where you at?!"**_

A soft _"Over here" _came in response. Lance gingerly walked to the end of the medbay to find her bed and slightly opened up the privacy curtains.

Liara's lay with most of her body covered by the bed sheets. She sat up as the bed moved, angling herself to meet her visitor. Her blue skin was a bit paler then normal, probably from the blood loss. He had been told the cuts hadn't been too bad, but it looked like they were healing somewhat slowly. He was still concerned, her entire forehead had a bandage wrap along with her chin and neck.

"_Hey, uh how are you feeling? I got you your favorite beer!"_

Chris shook the bottles in excitement, opening both but keeping both for himself.

"_First off Christopher, these are your favorite. Secondly, you're an alcoholic."_

He put his hands up in mock pain, then took a swig of the beer before replying defensively.

"_I am not an alcoholic, I'm a drunk. The difference being me being a successfully employed man!"_

She smiled and chuckled. _"Give me my drink, Lance." _She took an extended sip, relaxing from the warmth of the fluid hitting her.

"_**How's your face? It looks a lot better."**_

With the talk of her face, she instinctively touched it. Modern medicine did wonders with all but the deepest of cuts.

"_Its better, I was more surprised than anything. It has been some time since I have seen a metal knife in combat."_

"_Agreed, these unknowns are quite the bunch. I just had a chat with the girl." _

She took another sip of her beer and adjusted her position. "_I heard, the Commander stopped by earlier to say hello. It seemed you both fared better than I." _

Chris startled chucking a bit, taking the comment as a joke. _"Who would have thought an Asari was a bad idea for first contact?" _

They both shared a small fit of laughter. Lance went on to explain the conversation while Liara just sat and listened. He enjoyed talking to her. It was relaxing to talking to someone who wasn't Military, but could understand and relate experiences.

After another few minutes of small talk, Chris finished his beer and wished Liara a well recovery and a goodnight. He started walking out of the infirmary but noticed one of the privacy curtains was half open. He stopped directly outside of them and peeked inside.

The large male unknown trooper was lying inside, restrained to the bed by his arms and legs. Still unconscious and with new bruising, courtesy of Chris. He had put up a hell of a fight in the shuttle. Fighting, clawing and tearing at anything he could. It had took 5 men plus the Commander to hold him down while they injected him with some 'coma juice'.

Chris quickly looked around and saw the Doctor was pre-occupied again. Going against his better judgement, he stepped inside and closed the curtains behind him.

Saying the man was large might have been an understatement. His gown was not fitted for him at all. Barely squeezing into it. Large sections of his upper chest showed with his head out, and for the first time, he had the time to get a good look at this ferocious and unyielding warrior.

What showed of his chest was covered in tattoos of different variations. All kinds of skulls, seals, symbols and foreign scripture it seemed. But where his tattoos stopped, his scars began. Relative for his young age, the man had experience written all over his face. A large slash scar adorned his face in front of his ear. Starting at his forehead and going to his chin. A few smaller cuts and healed scraps similarly covered his face. Giving depth to his rugged looks. The warrior must have been in combat for a long time, as his once shaved head had a raven black hair starting to grow in along with a scraggly 5' Oclock shadow.

A silver chain was cast around his neck. Some sort of skull was on it as well. From afar it looked similar to the females. Again disregarding his own judgement, he approached to get a better look at the chain. He picked it up off the man's chest. The jawless skull was primarily a gunmetal grey silver, with the top portion of the skull filled in with some writing. It was heavy, probably a solid metal of some type.

While he was looking at the skull, he picked up some movement in the background. He put the chain down and discovered the massive trooper was staring at him, finally awake. His icy glare felt piercing along with the violet of his eyes was completely off putting.

"_**Why am I alive?" **_It sounded more of a general statement then a question.

"_Hey Doc! The big fella's awake!" _

Doctor Chakwas came running across the infirmary, the sound of soft shoes hitting the metal floor was deafening. But the Soldier did not struggle, he just lay there, perfectly still. Not even bothering to test the strength of the restraints.

"_**Am I the only one left?" **_Lance had no idea what to say back. He didn't want this man to get free and start rampaging again. Chakwas finally made it to him with a wild look on his face.

"_I have no idea how your awake with the amount of sedatives we put in you."_

"_**Drugs have little effect on me."**_

"_It appears that way. How are you feeling? You took quite the beating."_

Even as he spoke to the Doctor, his gaze never left the SSGT. It was time for him to leave.

"_Hey uh Doc, since he appears not to be on a murderous rampage still, I'm gonna head out. I'll send some security guys in if you want." _

"_That won't be necessary Staff Sergeant, have a good night." _

Quickly stepping out and away of the general area, he started heading back to his room. He hoped that Liara would be safe tonight. He knew she could more than handle herself, but that was a big fucking guy, even without his armor. It was slow and thoughtful walk back to his room. A lot had happened today, he hasn't even started thinking about the man he lost. They didn't even recovery his body…

But that was what this War was going to take. For it will be a war, they will take back Earth from the Reapers and make sure they regret ever fucking with Humanity. Just like Sovereign had, they will all fall.

Chris finally arrived at his room to find it dark. Cardinal was already fast asleep. He took off his boots and uniform stripping down to his nightwear. Tonight was not going to be filled with sleep, he could tell. But slowly and surely he closed his eyes and let the memories flow.

…

_**Whose chair is that? Ain't my chair. Not my Chair not my problem that's what I say.**_

_**I am a poor pilgrim of sorrow. Cast out in this wide world to roam. I have no hope for tomorrow but I'm just trying to make Heaven my home.**_

_**First time I blacked out was on Yuengling, so it's the best. And I'll throw hands over that.**_

…

_**Let me know if you like the new story format, maybe it's easier to read (?)**_


	7. The Boy of Passchendaele

**The Boy of Passchendaele**

**Outside the Heretic Kasr,**

**Passchendaele**

"_INCOMING INCOMING INCOMING!" _

The explosions impacted the muddy fields, throwing some men on their asses, others fell to shrapnel. But He was safe, if only for a moment. He lay in a small, man-sized piece of defilade that he easily fit into.

The thump of counter mortars began, as the incoming barrage ceased.

"_**COUNTER BARRAGE SET ADVANCE FORWARD!" **_

And forward he went, getting on his feet and ignoring the dying and dead. They were not his mission. The commissar barked orders behind him, pushing the unit ever forward towards the lines of the enemy.

He ran quickly, the rounds of autogun fire snapping closely by his head. He followed the team to his front, they sprinted forward, swerving in-between trenches and blast craters but staying on the wooden path. The mud and pools of dirty water penetrated deep. They captured anyone that dared step off the hardwood path.

"_**INCOMING!"**_

Forward he dived, into a good sized crater, shin deep with water. His face hit the deck first, followed by his body. Even as his face was submerged in the filthy and disease ridden water, he stayed still. Ever apparent of incoming fragmentation from the enemy's artillery. The sound of water distorted shell barrages began. The cries of men dying was bearing discernable over the explosions and machine guns. Lance heard someone screaming, but the water distorted it all. He was determined to drown himself in this crater of safety then run back into the hell of combat. Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed onto his helmet and pulled him out of the water.

"_**Advance you coward! For the Emperor!" **_

He picked up his las rifle. Though dirty, it was not damaged. A little mud would not hurt the rugged weapon. Forward he ran, following a different team this time. The rain was coming in sideways, pelting his armor and bare face with painful BBs.

He zeroed in on the striped helmets in front of him. The armor of his comrades would guide him through the dusk and smoke. Running as fast as his legs would carry him, he made his way into a flooded trench system. Up to his ankles were soaked in water as dozens of WhiteShields were gathered in this part of the trench, Veteran Sergeants and Commissars walked up and down the lie. Steeling the souls of the men of the 2nd Cadian Youth Corps.

"_**Check your weapons you dogs! We fight for the Throne and Humanity!"**_

Pressing himself further into the trench he searched for his squad. They weren't far, only a few steps into the trench before he found the survivors. The once proud squad of youths was now much grimmer. Tiberius, Shepard and the girl he was truly looking for, Junia. He set himself against the ramparts, close enough where he could feel her. Junia looked at him, her gaze was soft happiness. The war had not ruined her stature yet.

"_**I'm glad you survived, Johnny."**_

"_**It's not over yet."**_

Tiberius elbowed him in the stomach to get his attention. The trooper was a full head taller than John himself. He looked at the burly boy as Tiberius began in his low, growly voice.

"_**Brother are you ready? We will slaughter all enemies of the Imperium!" **_

Shepard also turned to give her input to him.

"_**The Emperor Protects the Faithful!" **_

Bearton did not respond to either Troopers, although both statements reverberated many times in his head, like a deep echo pounding his skull. The trench wasn't wide. Only about the length of a man lying down. Mortar and artillery shells flew over his head, impacting all around. Dirt was kicked up and the earthworks shook as if falling apart.

One shell found its mark, not even two squads away, the trench was replaced with a fireball. Bearton fell backwards, on top of Tiberius. His ears were ringing, but mechanical movements quickly pushed himself to his feet with the wooden supports, he gazed upon what used to be part of his platoon. The crater completely uprooted that section of trench, it was deep as it was wide. The closest were probably disintegrated upon impact, men further from the impact were not so lucky. The screaming, mangled bodies of Cadia's youth blocked out his vision. Blood poured into the muck as limbs were torn apart. Some were vividly aware of what happened to them, as there screams drowned out even the artillery barrage. Others just sat, not knowing they were dying or maybe they were already dead. John didn't pursue those thoughts.

The young trooper wasn't paying attention, he was zoned into the brutality that had just occurred when Shepard had grabbed him by the neck, bringing them face to face. She screamed instructions.

"_**GAS GAS GAS!" **_

Reality had smacked him in the face, he ripped off his helmet and tried to remember the proper steps. The conscripted trooper fumbled for his gas mask, the movements not yet practiced. He dared to look up and over the trench to see a great, orange haze moving fast towards there lines. Eyes wide he returned to his gas mask, now out of its pouch but the straps were too tight, John still hadn't put on his gas mask, but the others had and stared with contempt, even Junia just watched with terror. A Grizzled female Sergeant came by at this point. Wordless she helped strap on his mask over his head. John picked up his helmet and clipped it back on his head. But by the time he did, the Sergeant was walking away. Upon her armored back, was the inscription '_Chakwas'_.

John tried calling out to give his thanks over the guns of war,

"_**Thank you Sergeant!"**_

She paused and looked back over her shoulder. Though her face was covered, her eyes portrayed a soft blue look. She only uttered one word.

"_**Survive."**_

A thick orange smog enveloped the trench, concealing all but the nearest of objects. Under his trench coat, John's skin burned. It felt as if every skin layer was being ripped and peeled apart in a vicious and never-ending cycle. In an effort to focus on something else, he gripped his rifle as tightly as he could. Hoping the pain would cease, but it didn't. He felt the pressure of a hand on his forearm, turning, he saw Junia's masked face looking into his. He grabbed her hand with his and gripped tightly. Suffering in silence. The blistering took the place of all small comforts before it. Only through his training and threat of execution that he did not lose himself to the pain.

But not all had such mental hold. The once stoic looking Tiberius was on the ground, screaming and rolling in pain.

"_**MAKE IT STOP! EMPEROR PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!" **_

In his own frantic motions, he broke the seal on his mask, exposing his eyes and lungs to the deadly gas. The evidence was shown in his voice, as once muffled but tangible screams turned to raspy, sounds of panic.

John could do nothing, so he stood. Watching with morbid curiosity as his lifelong friend was choking and dying from the gas.

A nearby commissar noticed the affair and walked over.

"_**GET UP! STAND! STEEL YOURSELF CORWARD!"**_

No reply came. The man's condition only getting worse with mucus draining from his nose and down his exposed chin. He eyes were puffy and red, the poor boy was probably blind now. He still rolled around, crying out for his mother and trying to rip and tear his own face.

The crack of a bolt pistol rang out, and the head of the young Tiberius exploded in a million tiny fragments. Gore covering the meter of trench and man around him. The Commissar holstered his bolt pistol and grabbed John by the collar.

"_**The Emperor protects those, who protects themselves Trooper."**_

He let him go, then disappeared into the orange fog once more. John looked past the lifeless corpse of his friend, Shepard was staring straight ahead into the wall of the trench. Almost as if frozen in time, the rain bounced off of her armor. John let go of Junia's hand. The moment had passed and he just tried to focus on his repeated equipment checks, anything to block the continuous pain out of his head.

'_PowerPack, green. Las Rifle, green. Grenades, green. Pouches, closed. Sling, tight. Helmet, green.'_

John took the time to re-tighten his chest piece. It did not fit him at all, but it could still protect. The call came down the line, in a grim and powerful chorus.

"_**FIX BAYONETS!"**_

John called out and echoed the primal order.

Reaching for his scabbard he felt the handle of his family's dagger. It was engraved the name '_Bearton'_ on one side of the blade, the other had a list of battles the blade had survived through. A skull was placed at the butt of the handle. Carefully, he pulled the blade from its home. He pulled the barrel through the loop and secured the sword bayonet to its place on the bayonet lug. Properly affixed, he gave the bayonet a tug, to double check that it was secured.

Mentally, he tried to harden his mind. Today would be a long day. It had only begun an hour ago yet he was already one friend short. All that training, all those life experiences. 16 years of life wasted due to a measly minute of panic.

A ferocious looking commissar walked down the lines, eyeing each individual man. The veteran pulled his bolt pistol and shot it once in the air. Adding to the choir of artillery guns and machine guns throttling forward.

"_**Today men we seek to cement ourselves, not only as men, but as the Hammer of the Imperium!"**_

John gave one more glance at Junia, hoping for some final shared words between the two. She was staring directly into his eyes. He tried thinking of something to say, but she spoke first.

"_**Survive, Johnny, for me."**_

How desperately he wanted to say something, anything back to her. Just to put himself and his emotions at ease for the battle. But it wasn't meant to be. He opened his mouth to speak, but found the Commissar speaking for him.

"_**The Traitors think they can discrete our home! We will teach them the error of their ways, even if we have to drown them in our blood! Die well! Knowing you will earn your place in the Emperor's golden halls!"**_

A loud whistle broke the stride of his speech.

"_**THIS IS IT BROTHERS! FORWARD!"**_

To stay in the trench, was to die. The gas would accumulate and burn through his filters, or an artillery shell would find his hole just as it had found his friends. Survival was up and over into the enemies trench. And ever forward he went, up and over. The ladder was makeshift but held, as the weight of trooper after trooper ascended. The wait to ascend was torturous. Even if it was less than half a minute, every second spent in this pool of burning gas was a second closer to death.

His turn arrived as he mounted the ladder, right after Shepard climbed. Junia was hot on his tail as well. He climbed the 7 feet required and felt the wet mud of No Man's Land with his gloves as he pushed himself up.

"_**On-line, get on-line!" **_

The battlefield was eerily silent. All but the most distant or artillery had ceased, confirming that they were close to the enemy. John took his spot in the formation line, walking with perfect discipline over exposed ground. The orange smog was still heavy, but it was dissipating slowly with the wind and rain. Steel razor wire covered the land in isolated patches, along with the craters of shells and the bodies of the fallen in previous attacks.

Previous orders stated there would be no retreat this time.

Though his rifle was shouldered, Bearton looked around, visibility was only about 15 meters but he could see a good amount of men, at least a dozen were around him. He could barely make out Junia only a few meters to his left. Wordlessly stepping forward. A Commissar stood off to his right, Bolt pistol and saber in hands. His crimson uniform covered in a thick, brown-black mud that was routinely washed off and re-applied from the rain and muck.

This was too easy. The Guard had been pressing to break these lines for months. Something was wrong, most attack waves hadn't of gotten this far without breaking against the rocks of machine gun fire. That's when the first of the tracers pierced the fog.

Instinctively he dropped. An autogun burst snapped over his head, killing all in its path. The burst commenced a wall of bullets, like nothing John had ever seen previously. He got to his feet, crouch running forward as if to dodge bullets. He couldn't see the enemy. The continuous fire of the auto guns didn't need to aim however, just spray and graze the entire line of men.

A long, continuous whistle blast gave the second order. Charge.

"_**Get up you cowards! Fight or die!" **_

The Commissar was on his feet, waving his sword forward. He promptly executed a man laying at his feet with a bolt shot round. Bearton tried to move forward, cover to cover. Crater to crater, corpse after corpse. But he never seemed to get any closer. And still the Guard fought on. Determined to drown the heretics in their own blood.

He breathed heavily through his gas mask. It somewhat hampered his breathing and shortened his breaths. But he couldn't afford to stop. To stop was to die. Sweat dripped down his face, aches and pains made themselves apparent with the never-ending blisters.

Mortars started impacting around him, likely the enemy. It was pure, savage, violence, the gas burning his skin while high explosives threatened to dismember him like so many others. John tripped over an unseen rifle barrel and fell behind a small mound. Quickly concealing himself behind the defilade he took stock.

All power packs and grenades accounted for. He surveyed the battlefield behind him. The swarm of Guardsmen seemed endless, and he knew somewhere out there were his friends that he had lost.

One unknown WhiteStripped boy ran towards him, in an effort to share John's cover. This effort was cut, when he himself, was torn in half at the waist from gunfire. Entrails came loose and the red barely polluted the brown mud. This was truly hell incarnate.

Forward he ran, up and over his cover. The incoming Commissar hot on his tail to ensure courage. But John was not dead yet, he was surviving! Hopefully he could make it to the next trench line in one piece, Emperor willing this day.

He fired his lasgun, crimson beam penetrating the smoke and hopefully hitting some distant and unknown target, he still couldn't see. He saw muzzle flashes, wait muzzle flashes?! He was close. This much closer to the safety of a trench, and that much closer to killing the damned traitors. But that was secondary, he needed to survive, hopefully Junia did too.

Strange white aircraft flew overhead, barely visible over the gas smog and dark clouds. It seemed somewhat recognizable. But that thought didn't matter, surviving did.

A wall of tracers came in a steady flow from beyond the smoke. He needed cover. Ducking and running forward he found a large ditch, running horizontal. He jumped into it, meeting the cool wet feeling of muddy water covering his body from his waist down. It somewhat soothed his gas burns but he had no doubts that if he survived this, half his body would have an infection. John crawled up his incline, just a bit, to try and see over his good cover. On the other side of the trench was a large crisscross section of razor wire, still in one piece somehow.

A large group of Guardsmen was stuck in water filled ditch with him, all spread out and seeking not to get shot. The enemy's mortars appeared to not land here. As they probably didn't want to destroy their fresh wire. Some men returned fire at the muzzle flashes. Crimsion highlighting themselves.

The thumping of a rotary grenade launcher sending rounds downrange comforted him.

John was a bit worried, Junia wasn't there yet. Maybe she was further down the line, or stalled up back where he had come. But still alive, hopefully.

Even as the rounds snapped closely overhead, some men were braver then him. A Sergeant stood above him. Grabbing and prepping a krak grenade, the hardened veteran went to throw it. The fool was not as invincible, as he thought. Bearton witnessed three individual rounds rip into the Sergeant, completely negating his armor. The rounds tore large chunks from the Man's bodies. No amount of gene mods or medicine could heal the holes that had been viciously constructed.

The grenade fell next to him. John's eyes got wide. Instincts kicked in. He dropped his lasgun, scrambling on his belly to pick up the grenade. He scooped it with his right hand and tossed it less then adequately ahead of himself.

"_**GRENADE!" **_

Screaming through his gas mask as he tried to warn the others around him. The ground shook as the device exploded, sending hot bits of metal flying into the air. It only added to the chaotic background.

A familiar and comforting form pressed against his back. Turning his head he saw Junia, her back was to his, she had just arrived.

"_**One last effort Johnny!"**_

He could sense the determination in her voice, the courage pulled from her core. John wished he had that same courage, that same sense of duty to hate the enemy and forget about all else. But truthfully, he just wanted to live another day.

Some man down the line threw a satchel charge, he had felt the explosion as only something like a satchel could produce the same shockwave. Then another call came down the lines he wish he didn't hear.

"_**BREACH OPEN!"**_

As one, united as a machine of war, every Guardsmen got to their feet and started running. Eager to press the attack. Bearton and Junia were among the meat for the grinder. The auto gun fire did not stop on account of the breach, if anything the rate of bullets thrown only increased, sending more and more loyal Citizens to their deaths.

But not John, and especially not Junia. They ran further and further into enemy territory. A wall of bodies in forward and behind them. All eager to kill and die for the God-Emperor. The trench was breached. Not by them personally, but by some forward element. But the primary concern was it was in sight, the safety of fortified earthworks so close!

The whine of a mortar shell did not care how far they had come.

The shell impacted less than 2 meters too his left. But the effects were immediate, He flew backward, shrapnel penetrating his exposed body parts.

Bearton lay on his back, looking at the dark grey of the sky. Rain poured on his gas mask's goggles. With terrible effort, he took off his mask, throwing it off to the side. A cold gust of air flowed into his mouth and nose. The scent of death overloaded his senses. He tried to get up, one arm at a time.

A banner man ran past among a crowd of mud covered Guardsmen. The flag of his regiment's colors proudly waving, even in such devastating combat. Golden eagle flying ever forwards, for the glory of the Emperor and Guard.

He reached out for his las gun, trying to find an object to give him comfort. His first reach found purchase on the hardness of armor plating. Looking at his find, his heart broke. Shepard's' red eyes stared at him, straining for life. Her gas mask torn asunder, what remained of her face still held its softness. A stream of blood ran from her mouth. She was coughing up blood with extremely shallow breaths. She had a piece of fragmentation in her throats.

John turned over. It couldn't be possible that she was dead. They had spent so much time together. The past six years, ever since conscription, they had always been together. Just trying to make it another day. But here she lain, dying and empty of soul.

John grabbed her hand. Perhaps he could comfort her, it was Shepard after all. The least he could do was try and be there for her.

That's when John heard, no, _felt_ a maniacal laughter. The dark gods were laughing at him. Laughing at the sacrifice and death of yet another woman. They thought this was funny. All this brutality was just a game to them?!

'_**HOW DARE THEY!'**_

His peripheral vision caught movement. Junia had knelt down next to him. In the crater of loss and mud that he currently inhabited.

"_**Johnny, get up." **_

Not wanting to move, he stayed there, holding the poor girl's hand as the started choking on her own blood. The desperation in her eyes was heartbreaking.

"_**Leave her Johnny! Please we have to go!"**_

A strong arm looped under his arm and pulled him upwards, as a single tear ran down his face.

Time seemed to freeze over, even the rain seemed to stop its relentless fury. He thought himself dead, but here he was, still breathing. His body felt separate from his mind, like he was watching himself from the third person. Viewing himself, he could see the blood and mud that had accumulated on his uniform. Bits of what used to be his friends and unknown comrades. He hadn't even seen the enemies yet. His face was stuck in a mixture of grief and a building rage. There was fire in his eyes, he knew what he must do now. Destroy all who would call Chaos their masters.

But this seemed all wrong, he didn't remember this happening, not exactly. But now he was here standing, seemingly above the mud. The charging Guardsmen frozen in time, unaware of his existence. Bullets were stopped mid-flight, he could make out each of the rounds.

"_**What is this?!"**_

John's demands were met by the violet eyed Junia. The only thing moving and meeting his eyes.

"_**This is a memory John. You're asleep. Wakeup John. Wakeup!"**_

Many emotions flooded Bearton, he felt sad, but mostly angry. The main emotion was confusion however, he needed to calm himself. Listen to his training, don't give into the warp. And above all, don't give into emotion. That only led to ruin.

'_My Armor is contempt'_

Slowly, the mud covered battlefield was being replace by a bright light.

'_My Shield is disgust'_

Shepard's corpse started fading away, more slowly than the mud. The failure he felt that day could never be replicated, for it wasn't even half over, and yet it was being taken over by light instead. Junia's comforting image faded alongside that brutal battleground. The warzone where he earned his place as a Karskin and the title of the unyielding Demon Slayer.

'_My Sword is hatred' _

Replacing that nightmare was a white ceiling, with white walls. And a rather pale white man staring at his ID chain.

John took a second to compose himself. Let the more recent of his memories come to him. The Orks and their sorcery, led him to this place. Fighting the white armored traitors and meeting that local PDF. Wait, he remembered something. Mars. He was on Mars. The man above him looked entranced, looking into his general issue chain. No doubt trying to gain some informational edge on him.

John felt the embrace of restraints around his wrists and ankles. Thinking tactically and as he should, he thought not to test these holdings just yet. Giving off a calm and submissive aura might give him an edge, if those Xenos appeared once again and tried to torture him.

He decided to say something, since this 'man' was so engrossed in his ID chain. The most obvious question was his choice.

"_**Why am I alive?**_

The man looked quite startled, his shaven face portraying the emotions of horror and confusion. He said something that he couldn't understand, but he heard the reply in the form of approaching footsteps. John decided to ask his second most pressing question.

"_**Am I the only one left?"**_

An older woman threw open the curtains to his front, causing John to flex naturally in response. She spoke, but somehow Bearton could understand what she said.

"_I have no idea how your awake with the amount of sedatives we put in you."_

Ah, that's right, he was put to sleep because he tried to kill that Psyker Xenos. A single phrase echoed in his head, almost to the point of causing pain. It was _her _voice.

'_**Survive, Johnny, for me.'**_

That was cruel. But John quickly figured someone was in his head. Trying to influence his actions. He looked around for an obvious source but found nothing. Perhaps it was that Xenos, trying to get information out of him. But maybe, it was voice of aid, he would humor it for now.

"_**Drugs have little effect on me."**_

"_It appears that way. How are you feeling? You took quite the beating."_

This Doctor sounded generally concerned for him. He was somewhat curious for this, but he was more worried about the influence in his head. Someone was trying to change him. He just wasn't sure in what way yet.

The fat man spoke again. Again more gibberish bullshit. It obviously didn't concern him. He walked out after a few seconds, leaving him alone with this old woman.

"_**What is your name, Medicae?**_

"_You may call me Dr. Chakwas."_

Chakwas? John went back to his dream. So his memories had been influenced for a while it seemed.

"_**What's your plan for me?"**_

"_Well personally, to heal your injuries. Commander Shepard has the final say of what happens to you however._

John grumbled, he didn't like being controlled at the whim of others. He flexed his grip, testing his bodily strength while being careful not to mistakenly break any restraints.

"_How are you feeling though, Mr. Bearton correct?"_

They must not have any information on him. Which was good, that currently was the only advantage he possessed.

"_**Fine."**_

"_It would make your stay here more comfortable if you could give me something, I'm saying that because you should technically be dead. But here you are, speaking with a new hole in your jaw."_

"_**I am fine."**_

Chakwas came over next to his head. She reached down under the bed and pressed a button. The audible sounds of a struggling machine could be heard as the bed started inclining, into more of a sitting position. This Doctor seemed quite persistent.

"_What about some water? Or food? You are showing signs of dehydration."_

As she brought up the subject of consumables, his body started feeling the need for such things. The mere mention of water subjected his mouth to a dryness and longing for such things.

"_**Water."**_

The Medicae smiled politely and walked out of his curtained area. He took some time to observe his surroundings. The curtains gave him a small area. Maybe a man's length across while there was a meter area from his feet to such curtains. It was very generous by Imperial standards, there was no such thing as privacy in the Kasrs, let alone the Imperial Guard.

The smell was foreign… Like stale air, he must on a ship of some sorts. He looked behind him to try and gain depth. But saw only a large white wall with a small monitor above him. A few thin cables ran down that he could now feel were placed on his forehead and chest. As weird as it sounded, John was getting real sick of all clean looking white.

The grey privacy curtains parted revealing the Doctor. She had a gunmetal cup in her hands. Walking over she motioned for John to take a sip while she held the cup. He squinted, trying to look into the cup before drinking. Chakwas took the queue and went to explain herself.

"_Oh there's nothing in it. You probably don't believe me but, just realize if I wanted to drug you I could with a needle instead of water." _

That logic was… sound. Even if it did give off a slight red flag, the Warrior would deal with it. He tilted his head forward, attempting to put his lips around the rim. The Doctor complied and worked with him, tilting the cup slightly upwards as water flowed into his mouth.

It was a cold and welcome relief for the Kasrkin's throat. Days of yelling and rationed bread had ran its course on him.

"_**Chakwas, stop."**_

That startled himself, and then he felt dumb. How had he not noticed this new arrival? The cup hesitated for a half second before being pulled away from his mouth. John moved his gaze to the new arrival, attempting to give his strongest and most confident face.

He recognized the new arrival instantly. Those blood red eyes are hard to forget. They reminded John more of a demon then a woman. Which could still be the case.

"_**Shepard."**_

The woman put on an evil smile.

"_Ah so you remember my name. Let's seen then, do you remember my words?"_

"_**I remember being allowed to draw blood from the Xenos not once, but twice."**_

The smile quickly turned into an expression of anger and contempt.

"_Just who the fuck do you think you are? Dropping out of nowhere into my mission and trying to kill everyone you meet?"_

Calmly trying to deescalate the situation while maintaining a strong station was hard.

"_**I only seek to end those in the grasp of the Arch-Enemy."**_

"_The Arch-fucking what? Do you mean the Reapers? Because yes the Reapers control Cerberus, but they do not control Liara, so your answer isn't holding up there, Warhero."_

This conversation was quickly boring him, and the talk made this throat dry once again. He decided to act more brashly as it seemed to resonate well with the simple minded.

Though the restraints seemed quite intent on holding him down, his genemods made him stronger than even his natural body gave him. With a superhuman speed, he ripped his right hand out of the leather like holding and took the metal cup from the Doctor's hand. He finished chugging the cup of water, then attempted to give the cup back to the Doctor, but instead finding her holding a pistol at him.

Shepard stood there, arms crossed and now with a more curious expression.

John laughed, usually he would refrain from doing so. But this entire situation was so bizarre and informal. Seeing as he was now exposed, he ripped his left hand free started rubbing the spots where the restraints once were.

"_Neat trick."_

"_**It comes with the job."**_

Doctor Chakwas moved away and holstered her pistol. The motion was interesting, as the pistol seemed to breakdown and fold.

"_What is your job anyway? Your friend seemed pretty clueless."_

John remembered the Medicae, at least he now had confirmation of a somewhat useful ally nearby.

"_**Kasrkin. Cadia's Elite of the Imperium's Hammer."**_

"_Woah there big shooter. You're throwing a few big words around that I've never heard before."_

"_**You've never heard of the Imperium of Man? Of Cadia?"**_

Shepard grabbed a stool and pulled it up to the bed.

"_Can't say I have, and I've been around the better part of the galaxy. I'm sure I would have at least killed one or two of these 'Kasrkins' before."_

That offhand comment angered John a little bit. She obviously didn't have a clue about what a Kasrkin was.

"_**You must have quite the story, Shepard. The God-Emperor would be grateful for such a servant."**_

"_Sure sure, God Emperor of the Universe right? Hey Doc can you get this man some chow? Thanks."_

Chakwas complied yet again, wordlessly moving away and leaving the infirmary. John felt like he had to correct this woman. She was quite ignorant.

"_**God Emperor of Mankind, but rightly the universe, yes."**_

"_He sounds like a swell fellow. You've got to introduce us someday."_

Bearton became quite agitated. Showing a bit of it on his face. This Woman knew how to get under a person's skin. That statement didn't even rate a response. So he sat there, letting his contempt be known in the form of a scowl.

"_Alright listen big guy, this is a bit out of my wheelhouse considering I'm the shoot first type. But you seem like a fish out of the fucking ocean, so I'm gonna scratch your back. But you have to promise to scratch my back real good and hard, by NOT TRYING TO KILL MY CREW. Is that too hard to ask? I'll even get your smelly ass a shower."_

John thought for a moment. She acted like she had supreme authority, she did say that it was her ship.

An icy, sharp pain hit the back of his head. He knew the feeling well, Psyker incursion. Internally he brought up his will and tried to block it out. But a single message could be heard.

'_Take the offer.'_

This Psyker was getting on his nerves. But considering the circumstances, maybe it truly was a voice of aid.

"_**As long as I don't see any more heresy, then it is a deal."**_

Shepard sighed out loud as she got up.

"_I guess that's the best I'm getting then, isn't it? Whatever ill just shoot ya next time."_

She walked out of the privacy curtain as the Doctor walked in.

"_Doc, I'm gonna bring a guy in here with a gun and a datapad. The gun to watch the big guy and the datapad to give to him. Just make sure he doesn't do anything that'll force me to put him down."_

"_If you think its necessary Shepard."_

Chakwas turned to the man, and set down a plastic plate with a sandwich on it.

"_Sorry the messhall is closed right now so that's all that was available."_

"_**You are quite kind Medicae, but I would like some time to reflect right now."**_

She nodded and walked out. This wasn't a bad start, so far. Nothing heretical, nothing that could be considered traitorous as far as he knew. And no Xeno, that was very good. All that remained was to figure out where he was, and more importantly, who the fuck was poking around his head.

….….

**Mr. Walkway. Mr. Walk down me I'm the walkway, lead me to the building. Fuck you. No way.**

** Yeah right.**

**WHO PAID FOR THAT FLOOR? NOT ME. NOT ONCE NOT NEVER. NO WAY**

**…..**

**I have two requests. 1****st****. If there is an experienced writer among you that has experience dealing with the mentally retarded. Please PM me**

**Second-**** I put a poll on my profile. Click a choice. Do it. I'll fight you if you don't.**


End file.
